State of Mind
by beelieve
Summary: AU: In the aftermath of a horrible car accident, Oliver Queen has lost nearly all of his memories. His family hires Felicity Smoak to help Oliver piece together his past. But Felicity has secrets too, ones that could shake the foundation of Oliver's reality and forever change their relationship.
1. Chapter 1

She- _Felicity_- was late.

Oliver was keenly aware of this as he kept glancing down at his watch, which felt good and solid against his wrist. Today was the first time he had put on clothes other than hospital gowns, in _months_, and the feeling was liberating.

Oliver watched the second hand move rhythmically as each second passed.

Felicity Smoak was her name, according to his mother. She had hired the woman, _specifically_, to help him. He was supposed to have met with her five minutes ago.

Impatient, Oliver picked up a broken arrowhead in the bag beside him and held it up to the light. His eyes tracing the bend and arch of the green tip, which had- at some point- been plunged into the red circle on some target. According to Thea, who had brought it by yesterday- along with a variety of other knick-knacks- it was the arrow he used to nail his first bullseye. But it was meaningless to him now, carrying no sentimental value, considering he had no memories to attach it to.

Squinting, he cast his gaze away, tossing the tip back into the bag by his bedside. He could hear his mother outside of his room, which was located on the fifth floor of Starling hospital. She was arguing with a nurse, something about more blankets, coffee, the drop in temperature, anything to distract herself from having to sit and stare at him. Maintaining that worried look, like he might disintegrate at any moment.

It had been three months, if he'd added correctly, since the accident. Apparently, it had been a head on collision with one of those small bug cars, yellow, from the pictures he had seen. One of those Hawaiian bobble head dolls knocked over on the dashboard. The other driver, a greasy, large man barely had a scratch on him, due to his "trusty seatbelt" (his words) that had prevented him from flying straight into the windshield, which was exactly what had happened to Oliver.

According to the mans statement, the blame was on him for passing through a red light. Not that he remembered any of this, neither the accident or really much before it. After running a few tests, the results reported that his memory had been wiped.

Although this was only partially true. He still remembered certain instances, most of them recent. He knew Moira, still arguing with the nurse, was his mother and Robert, who he'd been told died many years ago in a yachting accident, had been his father. He remembered some of his college friends, their faces, but any specific memories he had with them were lost in translation. It was like he had bits and pieces of a puzzle, splotches of a whole that were useless by themselves, only there to offer a small window into his old life.

Oliver sat on his bed, rubbing his index and thumb together habitually, a nervous tick. It was small actions like this that frustrated him the most. Where had he adopted this from? How long had he been doing it? The seemingly mundane and trivial act of sliding his fingers back and forth had him buzzing with annoyance. He'd experienced a few of these instances in his months of recovery. He couldn't help it, they were the only aspects of himself he could hold onto.

"It might take some time," Dr. Lambart had said, just after the crash. "Or he may never completely regain any of it."

This made Oliver's heart sink. Although he had hope; after all, the accident could have been a lot worse. Instead he had been wheeled away with minor head injuries, which weren't bad enough to cause serious brain damage, but enough to put him in a coma for a little over a week, and lose a good portion of his long-term memory. Now, he was finally well enough to go home, and his mother had agreed on one condition: that he would work with a specialist. One that she hired. At this point, Oliver would have agreed to anything as long as he didn't have to endure another day in this stifled, and death ridden building. Although now, with a twitch of relief, it seemed he might avoid yet another specialist analyzing his every thought. Thinking this, he moved to stand, grabbing his jacket in the process. He would give her five mo-

"Hi!" A voice suddenly rang through the small room, perky and breathless. Oliver turned around, just as he had slipped both of his arms into the sleeves of his jacket. "Really sorry I'm late- the traffic in this city is _unbearable_."

A small blond thing, sporting black-rimmed glasses, strutted into the room. Similar to a porcelain doll, the woman had pale skin with just a hint of pink on her cheeks. She had a sweet and innocent look to her, the kind of girl one would bring home to meet their parents, but she was far from a girl. Her tight curves and determined stare had a voice in Oliver's head screaming _woman_.

Her glassy eyes turned up to look at Oliver's as she extended out an arm. "You must be Oliver Queen?"

Oliver looked down at her hand, his annoyance dissipating as he enveloped her fingers in his own.

"Felicity?"

"Smoak-yeah," she said, drawing her hand back. "Your mother asked me to meet you here so we could go over a schedule that works best for you- in terms of when you want to have our sessions. I know you probably have a life you want to get back to, so we can make this quick."

The way her words bounced around, almost gave off a nervous vibration, despite the warm smile on her lips. Oliver opened his mouth to respond, but Felicity moved past him toward the grand window, which took up a majority of the north wall in his room. At his mother's request.

"Nice room you have here," she said, looking out over downtown Starling. "You get a view and everything."

Oliver crossed his arms over his chest, staring at her back. "It has a certain appeal."

She turned around, hearing something strange in his voice; she let out a nervous laugh.

"Sorry, I have a tendency to-" she paused as she waved her hands in the air with a kind of 'you know?' gesture. "Babble."

Oliver offered a small smile as he cleared his throat and stood up straighter. "So about these sessions?"

Felicity pursed her lips as she shook her head, shifting back into work mode. "Right. So what day would you be free to star-"

There was a sudden clacking of heels that made Felicity stop mid-sentence, she turned around to see who had appeared in the doorway.

It was a face Oliver recognized, and he blinked a few times before he was finally able to process who it was.

"Laurel," he said, her name sounding strange and distant on his lips.

"I heard they were releasing you today," Laurel said, her eyes raking over Oliver's body.

"How did you-" Oliver was about to ask, but then the brunettes body, which moved past Felicity without even a glance, rammed into Oliver's like a cold wind. Her arms wrapped around his neck as she buried her face into his shoulder, soft sobs releasing from her covered mouth. Oliver watched Felicity move away slowly, eyes on Laurel's back, a strange shift in her gaze.

Laurel was saying something but her words were lost in the fabric of Oliver's shirt.

He moved backward, trying to look at her face, searching for a memory to link her to. And although he couldn't find one specific instance to hold onto, he knew that they were involved- or had been involved- either way he had slept with this woman. It was clear enough by the grappling of the shirt and desperate tears that he had been in this situation before, with her, only now it felt more like a déjà vu than a memory. He'd also heard people throwing her name and the word 'girlfriend' around in the same sentence. He was just unclear on the context of their current relationship.

After a moment, he realized that she was repeating 'I'm sorry' over and over again. Oliver looked back up at Felicity, who seemed to be having an internal debate of whether she should stay or leave. Slightly embarrassed by the scene unfolding before them he mouthed a quiet: "Monday, at noon?"

Felicity nodded.

She gave him one last look before turning away abruptly. Oliver watched her walk quickly down the narrow hallway, her ponytail bobbing wildly behind her like a signal flag.

"I'm sorry," Laurel said, finally emerging from his shirt, her voice suddenly so loud it sounded as if she were talking through a microphone; his skull burned.

Oliver looked down at her. "Stop apologizing," he said, stepping back to take in her tear streaked face.

"But I have a lot to apologize for," she said, another sob threatening to break free. Oliver held up his hands, as if to ward it off, then placed them gently on each of her shoulders. He recalled that this was the first time he had seen her since before the accident. Why? He didn't know, but he'd had plenty of people ask him where she was without a clear answer. Regretfully, he didn't remember her enough to care.

"I visited you immediately after the accident," she said, her words meshing together. "When you were still in a coma, but I didn't know if you would want to see me when you woke up."

Oliver frowned.

"Why?"

She met his eyes, blinking rapidly as something crossed through her mind. Another memory. He rolled my lips in anticipation and frustration.

"We-we had an argument," she stumbled on her words. "And when I heard what happened I- I'm sorry."

Clearly this was too much for her to handle because she broke into another fit of sobs, her hands fluttering up to her face to wipe away stray tears.

There was a beat of silence as he waited for her to explain, but instead she stepped back a foot or two, taking in his features. He was about to say something, to explain that she was going to have to help out a little on the memory thing. But then her hands were on either side of his face as she brought her lips up to meet his.

Oliver didn't pull away but he didn't kiss her back either, partially due to the shock of the moment, but there was also something else inside of him; warning him that this wasn't right.

When she finally pulled away, and placed her head on his chest, he felt a momentary jolt of panic at a single thought that, through this whole process, he hadn't really considered: Who could he really trust?

* * *

><p>Oliver took note of his phone buzzing, <em>yet again, <em>for something like the fifth time. He ignored it, feeling the warmth of the sun streaming in through his window and onto his exposed chest while mounds of pillows buried his head into darkness. He knew it must be later in the day, as he had been drifting in and out of consciousness for most of the morning.

There was another round of vibrations, making Oliver's teeth grind.

He rolled over, navigating his way through the sea of fabric until he located his nightstand. Squinting against the light he fumbled around until he found the device, drawing it toward him, he peered down at the screen. Laurel's name was blinking back, announcing that he had four text messages and one missed call from her.

The woman was relentless.

He momentarily studied the picture attached to her contact. In it, both she and him were sitting by some extravagant fountain, her arms wrapped loosely around his neck as she buried her face in his shoulder with a laugh. He was looking at the camera knowingly, a tight smile on his lips.

Shutting his eyes he put the phone back down and rolled over, letting out a soft groan. Fatigue was still present behind his closed eyes, a result of his night spent tossing and turning. He felt antsy being back in his childhood home. Walking into his room the night before was like stumbling into one of those perfectly tidied houses on TLC. Everything looked staged and neat, something one wouldn't expect from a teenager. He had been meaning to ask his mother, during their tour of the house, where he had been living before the accident, but it never seemed like the right moment. Besides, he could see by the way her eyes lingered on him, as he took in each room, that she was happy to have him back, even if it was temporary. He, of course, was just glad to have been released from the hospital. If the food wasn't already depressing, having to wake up to the same plain, water stained ceiling was enough to drive anyone mad.

Thinking this, Oliver rolled over and pushed himself out of bed, stumbling toward the bathroom to wake himself up. Briefly glancing in the mirror, he turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on his face, filling his mouth with it before swishing and spitting. After drying, he walked over to his closet, selecting jeans and a freshly ironed shirt that hugged his frame magnetically when he slipped it on. He got the feeling that pre-accident Oliver would have easily crawled back into bed and slept for another four hours, but he had been resting for the past three months, and needed answers.

* * *

><p>He was expecting at least someone to be home. But as Oliver padded down the grand staircase, listening for any voices or shuffling of feet, he began to feel that it was just him and the 1,000 acres of land. He rounded the base of the stairs and tried to navigate his way toward the kitchen, eventually finding it in the very back of the house. Everything was stainless steel and granite, despite his mother's perpetual intolerance of cold surfaces. The kitchen was more for looks anyways. After scanning the room, Oliver eventually spotted what he had been searching for. It was a bulky contraption that his mother had informed him was, indeed, a coffeemaker- despite having the outward appearance of one of those disguised, Transformer robots.<p>

He walked up to it and stood there, scanning all the various labels and pictures which offered a number of beverage choices such as light and dark roasts and all kinds of fancy lattes. There was nothing familiar about any of it.

After grabbing a mug, Oliver went with the button that looked the most similar to a normal cup of coffee.

Bad choice.

The machine started to sputter and whine, like the damaged engine of an older car. Oliver stepped back, holding his hands up in defense, as the coffeemaker started to hiss, foam rolling out one of the tubes. Impulsively, Oliver hit the side of the machine with his palm, which only made it hiss more. If he couldn't even make a standard cup of coffee, how did he expect to get his own life in order?

"You know," a voice said, making Oliver start. "Most people just push the brew button."

He turned to his right, spotting the small blond thing from the hospital standing in the kitchen's entryway, purse clutched against her abdomen.

He took in her hesitant smile, black-rimmed glasses, and colorful dress that could stop traffic. Although he registered who she was, (Felicity, if he remembered correctly) he couldn't immediately recall why she was here.

"Sorry," she said, stepping forward after reading the confusion on his face. "I knocked and someone-Raisa- let me in."

Oliver was still staring at her, his brain backtracking to the hospital where they agreed that she would meet him here on Monday… at noon. He glanced at the microwave clock. 12:33.

"How long have you been waiting?" He asked, the coffeemaker still making gurgling noises behind him.

Felicity turned her eyes up to the ceiling. "Oh… not _long_."

This was clearly a lie, making Oliver sigh, regretfully.

"I'm so sorry, it's this whole…" He trailed off with a tap to his temple.

Felicity loosened the grip on her purse as she brought a hand up to wave him off.

"It's fine. I forget things all the time- although not like you because I wasn't hit on the head- but if I was…it would explain a lot…"

Oliver watched her patiently, his hands digging deep into his pockets as his lips twitched upwards. She seemed to notice his silent humor because she closed her eyes after a second and changed the subject.

"Anyways," she said, sliding onto one of the island stools. "I guess we should get started."

Oliver watched her fidget awkwardly; adjusting her glasses, scooting this way and that in her seat as she placed her purse on the counter. If anything, Oliver should be the one swamped in nerves, but something about her unstructured movements set him at ease.

Once she was situated, he moved to take the stool a couple of spaces down from her. Given Felicity's seemingly anxious tendencies, he didn't want their close proximity to give her another reason to be nervous.

Oliver waited for a beat as she dug around in her purse. "How does this work exactly?" He asked, after a moment.

She looked up at him before drawing out a pen and pad. "Well, I thought we would start with the basics. You tell me everything you_ do _remember about yourself before the accident."

"Aren't we supposed to be figuring out what I _don't_ know?"

Felicity blinked at him before scribbling something on the pad.

"Sometimes reiterating what you already know can be a trigger, like, one wrong step can create an avalanche." Tapping her pen lightly. "But in this case we want that one wrong step."

Oliver looked away from her, his eyes tracing the sharp corners of the room. His mind definitely wasn't awake for this, despite it being noontime. He would give anything for a cup of coffee right now, but there was no way in hell he was attempting the Transformer again.

He turned his attention back to Felicity, feeling her eyes on him. Her stare wasn't demanding, if anything she was watching him patiently and curiously, like she genuinely wanted to hear whatever he had to say, like she was_ listening_.

"How long have you been doing this?" He finally asked, taking careful note of how young she was, maybe a year or two younger than himself.

She blinked. "Doing what?"

"Helping people."

She paused, seeming to consider this for a moment, her eyes turning upward as she calculated something in her mind. "Not long."

"And how exactly did my mother discover you?" He couldn't help himself, he was curious about her.

For some unknown reason, she briefly smiled at his words. "Boy, you ask a lot of questions."

Oliver ran his hand over the smooth granite surface. "Just trying to get a better idea of who I'm dealing with is all."

Felicity placed her pad and pen on the counter and slowly folded her hands in her lap, although he took note of the slight shake in them.

"How about this, you tell me one thing you remember about your life and I'll tell you something about me," her words formed perfectly against her bright pink lips. "That way we even the playing field and this won't seem so much like one of those therapist sessions where I ask you 'how you feel about this' every five minutes."

Oliver narrowed his eyes, hesitating briefly, wondering how much of himself he was prepared to give to this stranger. He could easily dismiss her with a wave of a hand, completely shut down and refuse to answer to her. But currently (and he was only just realizing this now) everyone in his life was a stranger to him. His family and 'friends' expected him to know who they were, to trust them, but in a world with so much taking, it can be hard to give willingly. Felicity was the first person that offered to give a little of herself in return for his trust. Like a breath of fresh air, he found that he desired this the most.

"Deal," he said after a moment, noticing her lips twitch upwards. "You go."

Her eyes widened. "No way, you're starting," she said, holding up a hand. "I'm still running this session."

"I thought you seeing a sobbing girl run into my arms yesterday was the starting point?"

Felicity smiled at this. "Not unless you can remember why she was crying all over your perfectly pressed Calvin & Klein button up."

Oliver laughed at this, running a hand down the front of his shirt as he readjusted his seating. He didn't particularly want to dive right into the Laurel discussion, mostly because he really_ didn't_ know why she had been crying. But at least it was a way for him to try and break down what he was feeling, before he inevitably had to confront Laurel, again. Her numerous text messages in the back of his mind.

"I got a feeling that we were together before the accident." He paused, trying to gather his thoughts. "I have some memories of us in college together, but they are brief instances and seem insignificant."

Oliver glanced at Felicity, who didn't say anything, but her eyes were studying him closely. He desperately wanted to know what she was thinking.

"Whatever feelings I had for her," he continued, looking away. "I can't-they aren't- I don't _remember_ them."

He suddenly felt vulnerable, like a dear in headlights. He stopped there and focused on a pattern in Felicity's dress, trying to find some kind of clear path in it, but everything was all curvy and mingled, getting lost in itself.

"I like to collect tea cups…" Felicity said after a moment, her voice breaking the silence. "But not the modern kind, like with those weird quotes on the side- I mean, those are nice too- but the antique kind with intricate designs."

Oliver looked at her quizzically. "I just told you about my girlfriend problems and you tell me you love tea cups?"

Felicity blushed. "I didn't say_ love_, I said _like_. "

"Besides the point. I don't think the two pieces of information are comparable."

"Doesn't make it any less true."

Oliver narrowed his eyes and licked his lips, noticing the way her eyes turned away from his if he stared too long.

"Alright then," he said after a moment, feeling his competitive side flair up. He tried to conjure up the most unimportant memory he had. "When I was around eight my friends and I used to sneak into old Mr. O'Neil's backyard and piss in his pool."

Felicity raised and eyebrow and pressed her lips together. "So your telling me pre-accident Oliver was a first class rebel that peed in old people's backyards?"

His eye twitched, feeling both respect and annoyance toward her. He didn't know how to tell Felicity that a part of him didn't want to remember who he used to be. From what he had read in the various tabloids about the old Oliver, the guy seemed like a first class ass hat and he wasn't sure he entirely wanted to remember that person.

"Want to know who I was?" He said, standing suddenly, as he walked over to a stack of old newspapers by the sink, picking one up. "_Oliver Queen…spoiled, playboy billionaire with a reputation that would makes Charlie Sheen look good. _Or so says page nine of the Starling Chronicle."

Felicity watched him wave the paper back and forth at her, pursing her lips, she looked down, smoothing out her dress. "And you have no interest in finding out who the man was behind those headlines?" She asked without looking up at him.

"From what I've gathered, he isn't really worth remembering," Oliver said before throwing the paper in the trash can, along with the rest that he had been studying for the past few months.

"I don't accept that," Felicity said, a fire behind her words, as though he had struck a nerve. "Maybe there was a reason why you did the things you did."

Oliver furrowed his eyebrows as he walked toward her. "Like what? So I could destroy my family's name and humiliate myself?"

Felicity was shaking her head. "It could have been a defense mechanism, coping strategy-"

"You give me too much credit."

Felicity grew silent at his words, her posture showing that she clearly didn't agree with him. But Oliver couldn't shake the defensive wall he had suddenly put up. He was tired of people making excuses for the old him, and as much as he felt he _could_ trust Felicity, he wasn't sure he was ready to trust himself- or who he used to be.

"I don't think this is going to work out."

Oliver said the words impulsively; they fell from his mouth like a whip lash.

When he looked up at Felicity she was fiddling with the handles of her purse, nodding. "Maybe your right." She said it in a whisper before moving to stand just as Oliver stepped up to shake her hand.

It folded into his, a delicate yet strong grip; and as he thanked her, he couldn't help but glance at her pad of paper. He noticed that her adamant scribbling in the beginning of the session hadn't been actual words or information, but swirls of circles and clouds, like a high school student doodling during class. Felicity must have seen his eyes wander because a second later she released his hand and moved to shove the paper and pen back in her purse. But she momentarily paused, considering something. Then, she ripped off a scrap of paper before jotting something down on it. When she turned back to Oliver, her arm was extended out.

"Here," she said, handing him the paper pinched between her index and thumb. He grabbed it from her and looked down, reading Felicity's name and number scrawled in her loopy handwriting. "In case you change your mind - or not- whatever, it's there."

Felicity then moved past Oliver quickly; he noticed her cheeks turning a harsh pink as she walked out of the kitchen.

Even after she left, he could still feel her presence in the room, like a warm spot after the sun has gone. Despite his quick and impulsive behavior, he realized briefly, for whatever reason, that he might actually miss her.

The feeling stuck with him for the rest of the afternoon.

* * *

><p><strong>Authors Note:<strong> Thanks to everyone you has continued to read my story! If you noticed I had a change in POV, from first to third person. I thought it flowed a lot better.

I'm really excited for this story and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it.

Reviews feed my black pit of a soul.

Thanks ya'll *hugs*


	2. Chapter 2

_One Week Later_

Oliver walked through the front door of the penthouse, nearly tripping over a box of business cards shoved carelessly against the doorframe. According to Tommy, who was now weaving his way into the flat, this was where they had been living before the accident.

"Your rooms in the very back… past the bathroom." Tommy called as he waltzed into the kitchen. "I'm surprised Moria's ok with you moving back so soon. It's only been a week, I figured she'd keep you handcuffed to your bed for another couple months."

Oliver took in his surroundings. "I can't stay there anymore," he said, kicking aside wads of paper. "She's nervous all the time and keeps everything too perfect, it freaks me out."

Oliver paused in the middle of the foyer, eyeing the disarray. There were bottles lined up on every flat surface and couch cushions strewn about; a lingering cigarette smell present throughout the entire place. He knew he hadn't ever been very stringent on cleanliness, but he wasn't a complete animal either, he'd hoped they'd had some standards.

"Have you seriously been living like this?" Oliver asked, moving through the foyer.

Tommy reappeared, carrying a drink in each hand. "I actually haven't been back here since before the accident," He gave one to Oliver as he took a sip from his own, turning around to examine the mess. "Been staying at my summer house just outside the city."

Oliver nodded, bringing the glass up to his nose. Sniffing, he grimaced at the smell, which made his head spin and stomach churn. Alcohol seemed to only make his symptoms worse, so he left the glass next to a pile of empty beer cans on a table.

"-no one's been up here for a while, which probably explains the smell of sex and road kill." Tommy continued, clearing a space on one of the couches to sit. Oliver walked into the living room, pacing the small area as he examined rows and stacks of bottle caps locked in a glass case, nailed to the wall. He felt a jolt of familiarity.

"I actually remember you collecting these," Oliver said, squinting at the labels on each.

"Yeah?" Tommy said, shifting forward on the couch. "Probably not the best hobby… like I need another reason to drink."

Oliver examined each cap closely, recognizing some brands. "Space Barley. Classic."

"So you _do_ remember some things?" Tommy asked after a moment.

"Here and there. Just small details, nothing that really matters."

Oliver heard Tommy get up, moving toward the mini bar to pour himself another drink. "Well, everyone's glad to have you back, you sure scared the hell out of us."

Oliver turned to him, noticing the slight shake in his voice. Tommy must have heard it too because a second later he cleared his throat.

"So listen," he said, clapping his hands together. "Your welcome back party. This Saturday. At The Grand. I'm throwing it."

Oliver scoffed, turning toward one of the windows that had handprints running up and down it suggestively. "Yeah, not really feeling up for it."

He wasn't surprised that the first thing Tommy had planned for him was a party; just like old times.

"Trust me, you won't feel anything after we get a few shots in you," Tommy said, downing the drink in his hand. "All you have to do is stand there and look vulnerable as a sea of women flock your way throwing condolences, get wells and- if you're lucky- themselves, at you."

Oliver grinned at his friend. "You haven't changed a bit."

Tommy gave him a knowing look. "Oliver, it's been three months, not three years. Now, stop stalling, I called you so we could make up for the past few months you've been playing patient. Get dressed."

"I'm actually surprised you called at all," Oliver offered, as Tommy started to walk away. "Considering you never came by the hospital."

Tommy paused, before slowly turning around.

"Yeah, sorry," he said, his voice hesitant. "But you know how I am with hospitals since my mom died."

There it was again, another person expecting Oliver to just _know_.

"Right. No big deal," Oliver said, shifting uncomfortably back and forth, wishing he hadn't abandoned his drink. "Just an observation."

There was a brief awkward moment that followed, but it passed quickly as Tommy let out a strange laugh.

"Let's _go_," he said, waving a hand. "There's hardly been anyone instigating wet t-shirt contests or throwing punches at bouncers. It's all been boring without you around."

Oliver shook his head as he squatted down, picking up a few pieces of broken glass that he spotted on the living room carpet. "Think I'll pass on tonight."

Tommy let out an annoyed sigh as he sluggishly walked up to his friend. "Come on Oliver, put the past behind you. You got to get back into the game, re-invent yourself… I'm sure one of those eighteenth century philosophical geniuses' once told his best friend the exact same thing many moons ago. Except back then the women were looser and everyone was perpetually drunk. A better time."

Oliver shot him a look as he placed shards of glass on the coffee table. "This weekend, I promise. Just not tonight."

Tommy stared at him for another beat before clapping a hand on his shoulder and nodding. "Good man," he said, before turning away. "I'll see you later."

He then jogged out of the room, leaving Oliver to clean up the mess.

* * *

><p>Oliver raised a hand to his temple, feeling his pulse jump back at him rapidly. He could feel a migraine coming on. They used to happen every day for two months after the accident, now he only got them when his stress levels were up. To try and counter this he'd spent most of the night cleaning. Oliver knew that this was arbitrary, considering he could have easily called a maid service to tidy up. But he had needed to actively do something so his mind would stop asking questions.<p>

The headache was most likely a result of a new voicemail waiting for him on his phone. It was from Laurel, of course, who he had been avoiding pretty successfully for the past week. He didn't know what to say to her; each of her voicemails getting more desperate than the previous.

_Oliver, it's Laurel. I've been trying to reach you for the past week. I get that you're trying to readjust but we need to talk. Will you please call me back? Please?_

He pulled the phone away from his ear, staring down at the screen before tossing it onto the nightstand. He looked around his room, vaguely aware of the scraps and pieces of lingerie scattered about, empty bottles and crumpled shirts. Oliver considered unpacking his duffle bag full of the clothes from home, which were waiting in the corner of the room, but as he began to stand, a sharp sensation rippled through his right temple. He fell back onto his bed, eyes closed, as his head vibrated violently like a drill against concrete. He grabbed a pillow and threw it over his face, needing complete darkness until the wave of pain passed, but it didn't, it just got worse. By the time he blacked out, his mind was elsewhere, rocking back and forth in the ocean, on the Queen's Gambit.

'_Oliver!' _

_He could hear his name and a familiar voice, but the harsh sound of wind and rain drowned out the cries. He knew he was on the Queen's Gambit because he recognized the familiar oak wood floorboards and stained glass windows. He was somewhere below the cabin, where loud footsteps were echoing above, disappearing as soon as they came, like ghosts in the night. _

'_Oliver!'_

_He heard his name again, and this time he was able to sway with the boat as he slid toward the stepladder, leading to the top of the yacht. Time seemed to pass slowly and then all at once. He didn't remember climbing the stairs, or opening the latch onto the deck, all he remembered was seeing his father. _

_Robert was holding onto the side of the boat, gripping the railing for dear life as he called out to his son. Wind whipped around Oliver's face as he stared down at his father. The rain blurred his vision, but he could still see Robert's hand extended out, eyes begging for help. _

"_Son," he said, desperately. But Oliver couldn't move or speak. It wasn't until a tremendous wave, like the claw of God, came down upon the boat, ripping Robert from the railing like a rag doll, that Oliver was finally able to move._

Like breaking the surface of water, Oliver gasped loudly, sitting up in his bed. He grabbed the collar of his shirt, a warm feeling blossoming in his chest like the burn of holding your breath for too long. He breathed in and out, his headache still present but the pain in his chest more excruciating. He stood up abruptly, beginning to pace the room, hands above his head as his thoughts trailed back to the Queen's Gambit.

He had never dreamed so vividly. In fact, he hardly ever remembered his dreams at all. Only in the early stages of waking was he ever able to recall a certain feeling he'd had during them, but never an entire scene from one. He tried to make sense of it, but his thoughts were scrambling, desperately trying to hold onto the small details as best he could.

Oliver walked over to his duffle bag, trying to see if he had packed a pen and paper, so he could write down what he remembered. Digging around, he was able to find a worn pencil, and just when he thought he was going to have to look elsewhere,

Oliver withdrew a scrap of paper. He almost tossed it aside when he saw familiar scrawl written on the backside.

_Felicity Smoak. __360-589-3721_

Oliver stared at her loopy handwriting, thinking back to the flush of the woman's cheeks and anxious fidgeting; the way she looked at him curiously and listened dutifully.

He didn't have to think about it twice when he reached for his phone on the nightstand, thumb punching her number into the keypad clumsily.

It rang four times before she answered on the fifth.

"Hello?" Her voice was groggy; he had clearly woken her. Looking at the clock on the nightstand he saw that it was three in the morning. Oliver hadn't even realized how late it was. He brought a hand up to his face. Just_ perfect_.

"Felicity Smoak?"

There was some movement on the other end; he was sure she was shifting into a sitting position. "Yes…?"

"It's Oliver Queen."

More movement. This time it was rustling of bed sheets. "Oliver… hi?"

He cleared his throat, suddenly realizing he might have made a stupid mistake, but there was no turning back now.

"Listen," he cleared his throat again. "I'm sorry to call you so late but I found your number." He paused, waiting for her to say something, and when she didn't, he continued. "I just had this weird dream and I didn't know who else to call, so I figured-" He didn't know why he suddenly felt odd about the situation, it had seemed so right a second ago. "You know what- nevermind, forget it, go back to sleep."

He was about to hang up, but then: "No, Oliver, wait!" There was a pause as he put the phone back up to his ear, listening to her soft breathing on the other end. It seemed like forever before she finally said: "Start from the beginning."

* * *

><p>"Wow- the most excitement I ever got out of a dream was when Liam Neeson finally saved me from the weird guy in a chicken costume," Felicity said when Oliver finished an hour later.<p>

"What?"

"Nevermind. Irrelevant. So you think it was a memory?" Felicity asked as Oliver leaned back against his headboard. For the past hour he had told her everything he remembered, down to the feel of the wind, as she listened intently on the other end, the occasional sound of clanking cups and running water as she got something to drink.

"I wouldn't be calling you if I didn't think it was possible," Oliver said, grabbing a yellow tennis ball from the side of his bed and throwing it against the ceiling.

"Wow- I mean- that's pretty big with you being there and everything. How old were you when he died?"

"Sometime in high school," Oliver said, a car alarm going off down in the street as he sat up. "The strangest part was, I didn't even try to save him. Even though he was right there in front of me, reaching out."

"You didn't want to?" Felicity asked. Oliver could hear her crawling back into bed after getting the cup of water. He was trying to picture how she would react to everything he was saying, the movements of her face and body as he retold the story. But he knew he wasn't getting everything right, even now the memory of her face was fading. This bothered him more than it should.

"In my mind I kept yelling 'no' but my body refused to help him," Oliver said, feeling a strange tingle ride up his spine.

Felicity breathed out. "Freaky. Have you asked your mom about it?"

"What?" Oliver asked, almost laughing at the thought. "Being on the Queen's Gambit when he died?"

"Sure."

"No," he said, propping the phone up between his shoulder and ear as he moved positions. "When my mother told me Robert died, she said it like she was reading the forecast for the weather that week. I get the feeling my family doesn't really talk about what happened."

Felicity sighed as she repositioned the phone. "I know I'm probably stating the obvious, but maybe you should just ask her anyways?"

Oliver didn't say anything for a moment. Of course this was the obvious option, the most practical and honest way of going about the situation. If anything he could ask his mother to retell every aspect of his childhood, and let Tommy fill him in on the R rated portions, but there are always going to be different versions to the same story. People see what they want to see and tell what they want to tell, simple as that.

"Oliver?" Felicity's voice brought him out of his thoughts.

"I don't trust her- or any of them really," Oliver said, like reflex. He heard Felicity laugh softly on the other end.

"Yet you can talk to me, tea cup girl, a complete stranger," Felicity said, trying to stifle a yawn.

Oliver smiled at this, picturing her curled up in bed, phone pressed to her ear as her eyelids began to droop, willing to listen to a guy she barely knew.

"Believe it or not, talking to you is one of easiest parts of my life right now," he said softly. After a moment of silence he began to hear her deep breathing on the other end, in and out, like the rolling of waves.

Oliver's eyes moved upward, the patterns of the ceiling reminding him of her dress. "Goodnight, Felicity Smoak," he breathed, before hanging up.

* * *

><p>Oliver watched Moira's mouth twitch as she looked up from her menu, at him. "And here I thought you just wanted to have a nice meal with your mother," Moira said, setting down the menu before placing her hands in her lap. Oliver had asked his mother to lunch the day after his conversation with Felicity, planning on confronting her about whether or not he was Queen's Gambit when his father died.<p>

"So it's true," Oliver said, his jaw clenching.

Moira sighed, snatching her napkin from its place on the table and folding it into her lap. "Your doctors told me not to tell you. They wanted you to remember in your own time."

Oliver fingered his silverware, his thumb trailing down the spine of his fork. "And you assumed they knew what was best?"

Moira rolled her eyes. "Well, they_ are_ professionals, Oliver. I don't understand why you are always against the system."

"I'm not against the system mom, I've just been dealing with the same damn tests and procedures for the past three months, without any clear answers."

Moira cocked her head to the side. "We're all doing the best we can to help you. Yet you've just been stubborn as ever."

Oliver waited, watching his mother pick up the menu again, her eyes moving over the various dishes, rapidly.

"You should have told me."

Oliver didn't know if it was how he had said it, but when Moira looked up at him, she had a tender look in her eyes. She reached one of her hands out toward his own.

"Oh, Oliver. It was always such a painful topic for you," she squeezed his hand before releasing it. "Besides, you're starting to remember now, so ultimately wasn't me not telling you a good thing?"

Oliver felt a headache coming on, and to avoid it, he complied. "Sure."

Moira seemed satisfied by this answer as she smiled and looked back down at the menu. "I guess your time with Felicity has really paid off."

Oliver considered this as a waiter walked up to their table, asking for their drink orders. Oliver felt his pride dwindle at the thought of Felicity. She was the only person he really trusted, and in this particular situation, one person was all he needed.

* * *

><p>Oliver walked out of the elevator, spotting her blond ponytail immediately. He had been wandering around this IT building for the past half hour looking for her. Some man had said she was on the seventh floor, and sure enough, Felicity was hunched over a desk, fingers flying over the keyboard of a computer she was studying. He glided over to her, nodding at a few women, whose eyes he could feel on him long after he'd passed.<p>

"Hey," Oliver said, moving up next to Felicity. She jumped pretty drastically, her chair making an obnoxious squeaking sound as she turned to look at him, her eyes wide.

"O-Oliver," she said, one of her hands gripping the desk so tightly it turned her knuckles white.

He smiled down at her, rolling his lips to keep himself from laughing at her fluster. "I just wanted to stop by and thank you for the other night."

Oliver watched Felicity slowly compose herself, smoothing out her pencil skirt and readjusting her glasses. A pink blush still in her cheeks as her eyes darted around the room.

"How did you find me?" She asked, one of her hands darting up, playing nervously with her necklace.

Oliver shrugged. "My mother told me you sometimes volunteer your time computer coding here."

Felicity pursed her lips as she turned away. "Oh."

Oliver moved more to his right, trying to catch her eyes again. "My family specializes in background checks," he said, digging his hands in his pockets. "It's apparently our thing."

Felicity was still looking away though, her eyes on the computer screen.

"Anyways, I was thinking about the other night when we talked." Felicity shifted her gaze, ever so slightly, back to him. "It was nice… to bounce my thoughts off of you."

Felicity glanced up at him, offering a small smile. "It wasn't a big deal."

"Yeah it was," Oliver said, serious. "After how I dismissed you so rudely last week- you didn't have to help me."

He watched Felicity fiddle with her nail polish as she considered his words. "So send me a bottle of wine and we'll call it even."

Oliver smiled at this. "How about I send you a bottle of wine after each of our sessions?"

Felicity frowned. "What?"

Oliver bent down to her level, meeting her eyes. She moved back reflexively but he held her gaze. "I want to work with you again, and this time I promise I wont be an intolerable ass."

Felicity opened her mouth, and then closed it. He could practically see words trailing through her head.

"I-I can't," she said, before pushing her chair back and standing.

Oliver followed her movements. "Why not?"

Felicity sighed, as if she had explained this to him many times before. "I just have a lot on my plate right now."

"If I offended you last-"

"You didn't," she said, then calmly: "I just- I can't right now."

Oliver nodded, stepping back as he watched Felicity wrap her arms around her waist.

"Right. Ok." He licked his lips. "I understand."

Felicity nodded, moving to place her hands on her hips as she parted her lips, like she was about to say something. When she didn't, Oliver turned slowly, a sting of something like rejection burning against his chest.

He then stopped and turned back to her.

"My friend Tommy is throwing me a welcome back party," he said, Felicity's eyes looking up at him in surprise. "It's this Saturday at The Grand, and you should come."

Felicity opened her mouth to say something but Oliver shook his head. "I promise I won't nag you about this whole memory thing. We're done. I just thought I'd extend the invite."

Felicity paused before nodding. "I'll think about it."

Oliver shook his head and smirked as she turned abruptly back to her computer, a new shade of pink appearing on her cheeks.

"I'll see you there," he said, before turning and walking back the way he came.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>: I really enjoyed writing this chapter, and was over the moon with joy when I read how much you are all enjoying this story. Thanks for all the love!

Chapter 3 should be up soon!

Reviews feed my black pit of a soul!

Thanks! *hugs*


	3. Chapter 3

Tommy walked into the living room, arms spread wide as he looked down at Oliver, who had a manila folder open on the coffee table in front of him.

"I can't decide," he said, spinning as he stared down at his suit. "This one or Marc Jacobs?"

Oliver didn't bother glancing up. "Don't care. Just pick one."

"Alright, no need to be snippy," Tommy said, slipping off his jacket and draping it over one of the couches. "This is a big day for us. We have a meeting with the investors in a couple of hours."

"Correction," Oliver said, holding up a finger and pointing it at Tommy. "_You_ have a meeting with the investors. _I've_ got to get to Queens Consolidated."

Tommy rolled his eyes. "Ok, I know you don't remember or whatever but we've been planning on starting this club for years. One little bump on the head and you're suddenly determined to set things right with your families company?"

Oliver scanned some of the papers in front of him, looking at the drop in net worth over the past couple months. "I've been going over my father's old reports for the past couple days. He was completely letting this company go to shit, when he could have done some real good in the city."

"Oliver, don't be a hero," Tommy said, grabbing a box from behind the couch. "Can we just stick to our original plan, please? I mean look," he flashed one of the cards from the box, "I even made us business cards. That makes everything official, right?"

Oliver rolled his eyes. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said, flipping the folder closed.

Tommy sighed, setting down the box as he turned to get a drink. "I better see you bright eyed and bushy tailed tomorrow night," he called, entering the kitchen, just as Oliver stood. "Which I know might be hard, considering you haven't been laid in few months. But we'll change that."

Oliver buttoned his jacket, and then snatched up the folder before heading toward the front door. "Good luck with your meeting."

"Don't need it," Oliver could practically hear Tommy smiling. "I got my winning personality and good looks."

Oliver shook his head as he closed the door behind him.

* * *

><p>Oliver walked through the entrance to his father's old office. Thea told him they'd hardly changed a thing in the years since Robert's death, mostly because Moira didn't have the heart too. She mostly worked from home, and occasionally popped into the office, but that was only when she had meetings or needed to oversee the progress of everything. The room had an overwhelming smell of cologne and musk, and although he couldn't recall, Oliver was almost certain that was what his dad used to smell like. Even years later, it still lingered.<p>

He walked over to his father's work area, examining the layout. He was looking for more of his father's old reports; surely the man must have some documentation of when everything started to go to hell. Oliver glanced at the various pictures positioned around the top of the desk. There was one with the whole family, his parents, Thea, and him, looking so young. There was another photo of Thea holding a turtle, which had a red bow tied around its middle. The last picture was of both him and his sister, Oliver's arm wrapped around her shoulder as she leaned into him. He wished he could remember these moments, but like everything else, it was lost somewhere in the space of his brain.

Oliver tried some of the drawers, hoping one would give, but all were locked. He sighed standing up straight as he shoved his hands in his pockets. He wished he had a bobby pin or paper clip, something to use to unlock it.

"Can I help you with something, Mr. Queen?"

Oliver jumped at the small voice. Looking over he saw one of the company workers hovering awkwardly in the doorframe, older, eyes too big for her small face as she sniffled and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Please," Oliver said, shooting her one of his million dollar smiles. "Call me Oliver."

She seemed to relax at this as he moved toward her, extending out a hand.

"Jane," she replied, shaking his hand with weak grip.

"I was just popping in to see if I could find something I lost a while ago, but it doesn't seem to be here."

She nodded at this, opening her mouth to- most likely- offer her assistance, but Oliver shook his head.

"I've got to get going," he said, moving past her, he didn't want his mother to know he had been here. "But thank you for checking in."

"Of course," Jane said, moving toward a desk off to the right, which he assumed meant she was his mother's assistant. " I'm glad to see you are doing better."

Oliver gave her a small smile. "I am."

He was about to leave, when a thought bubbled up in his mind. "Jane?"

"Yes, Mr. Oliver?" She said, sitting down at her desk.

"Did you enjoy working for my father?"

She blinked. "I don't think I understand?" She looked like this was a trick question.

"Was he a good person?" Oliver asked, holding her gaze.

There was a beat of silence as her lips pursed and eyes cast down at the papers in front of her. That was all he needed.

"Thank you," he said, offering a small wave before turning.

* * *

><p>Oliver stared at his shirtless body in the full-length mirror, bringing a hand up to touch the small puncture wounds on his shoulder, where shards of glass had infiltrated his skin from the accident. They had healed well, as some were only a sliver of white, others still holding onto that shinny pink.<p>

He could hear Tommy in the other room, banging drawers, probably onto his seventh outfit change. The man had been practically giddy all day at the prospect of tonight, like a child the night before Christmas. Oliver, on the other hand, would rather sit through an entire opera session than have to socialize with a bunch of people he didn't know. It was events like these that frustrated him the most, but Tommy had offered to house him and had gone to a lot of trouble to put this on tonight. He felt it was necessary to follow through.

Oliver thought this as he began to slip on his button up shirt. Pulling his arms through the sleeves, he caught sight of the cigarette burns he had dotted on his forearms.

After the accident, he had nothing but time to examine them, and figure out what had caused them. Their round shape and layers upon layers of scar tissue suggested multiple burns, a cigarette being the only plausible cause. He'd written it off as a result of some drunk escapade, but something in the back of his head said otherwise. He decided to keep his sleeves rolled down for the night.

There was a knock on his bedroom door before Tommy poked his head inside, watching Oliver in front of the mirror. "Yes, we all know you have abs like Jesus and a face like Clooney. Now, will you stop admiring yourself, so we can go?"

Oliver smirked as he buttoned the last button.

* * *

><p>There was instant applauding.<p>

Oliver tried to smile and wave as he exited the car, Tommy's hand clapped onto his shoulder.

"What did I tell you?" Tommy said as they walked toward the entrance of The Grand Hotel. People, especially women, were calling out his name in a roar of praise.

"I knew all of these people?" Oliver asked, the music from inside vibrating the glass doors.

"I don't know about _knew_ them," Tommy said, shrugging, as they walked through the front door. "But you've definitely slept with at least half."

Walking inside and maneuvering up a couple flights of stairs, Oliver swayed and dogged a few grabby hands. Women, who were clearly already drunk out of their minds, grabbed onto Oliver's clothes and pulled. Both Tommy and Oliver had to, nicely, retract their claws as the two men weaved their way toward the bar.

"This is insane," Oliver said, the music too loud for Tommy to hear what he said, but he shrugged anyways.

"All for you, buddy," Tommy said, patting his friend on the back.

Oliver spotted a group of closely huddled men off in a corner, eyeing the display of ice sculptures, provocative dancers, and a tumbleweed of bodies mangled together on the dance floor. He was about to ask Tommy who they were, when he suddenly felt a close presence, and turning he came face to face with Laurel. And she looked _pissed_.

"Sorry," she said, sarcasm thick in the word. "I just had to see if you were, in fact, still alive, considering I haven't seen or heard from you in a week. And now that I have-"

She turned to go, but Oliver caught her arm, pulling her back.

"Laurel, wait-"

She turned and handed him a hard stare. "I _have_ been waiting, Oliver! Do you know how nerve-wracking it has been wondering where we stand?"

Oliver closed his eyes, a headache waiting in the wings. "I know. I'm sorry, things have been-"

The music suddenly became louder as Oliver caught sight of Tommy giving the DJ a thumbs up on the volume.

Oliver winced as he looked back at Laurel, cocking his head toward one of the exits. "Mind if we go talk somewhere more quiet?"

Laurel held her gaze for another moment, before nodding.

They walked through the exit and onto an outside balcony, which stretched around the perimeter of the building. Other couples were down a ways, huddled into each other as they looked out at the city. Laurel and Oliver leaned over the railing, looking down below as a new flood of people poured into the front doors, one of the bouncers, shouting, trying to get them in order.

"Classic Tommy," Laurel said, shaking her head as she looked back up at Oliver. "Using any reason he can to throw a party."

A soft summer wind whipped around the space between them, making Laurel's hair wrap around her neck. Oliver nodded, feeling the weight of the moment.

"You used to live for these things, you know," Laurel said, an obvious bitterness in her voice. "The parties… the attention… booze… women."

Oliver glanced up at her. "Laurel, if you have something on your mind-"

"I do," she said, cutting him off. She looked like she might cry, but then held her chin up a little higher and was able to maintain her composure. "Our relationship was never perfect. We hurt each other… a lot. And I can say with certainty that I was usually on the receiving end of this hurt."

Oliver licked his lips. "I'm sorry for whatever it was I did to you." He hated apologizing for things he couldn't remember. Not because he had too much pride, but because he didn't know what he was apologizing for. It was empty sincerity.

"I know you are," Laurel said, her eyes casting downward. "I knew it from the moment I saw you in the hospital." She moved toward Oliver now, gradually. "You seemed so different- better- and it gave me hope."

"Laurel…"

"Just hear me out ok?" She said, a tight smile on her lips. "Forget about our past mistakes, and the people we used to be together. We can start fresh now."

Oliver looked at her long and hard, his answer forming before she had even finished. "I can't do that," he said, shaking his head as he shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. "And neither can you. You'll never be able to forget, even if I'm able to. It's still going to be there- our past- even now I can feel it, memory or not. There is a weight there, one we both know is never going to be completely lifted."

Tears pricked Laurel's eyes as she opened her mouth to respond, but then the exit door burst open as a stumbling drunk girl slurred and groaned her way toward Laurel.

"There you are," the drunk girl with fire red hair said, latching onto Laurel's arm. "I've been looking for you, did you find-?"

Laurel elbowed the red head in the ribs and cast a glance Oliver's way. Getting the not-so-subtle hint, red head looked over his way, narrowing her eyes before gasping.

"So you _did _find him," she said, in a fit of giggles. Oliver remained motionless as Laurel groaned and started pushing red head toward the exit.

"I should handle this," Laurel said, then paused, as if she were about to say more, but after a beat, she just continued forward, through the exit.

The minute the door closed behind them, Oliver turned back toward the city, a heavy sigh escaping his lips as he tilted his head back to gaze up at the stars.

"Sounds like your night is off to a stellar start," a familiar voice said, making Oliver freeze. He turned to his left, surprised to see Felicity standing just a few feet down from him, her hands grasping the railing.

She was wearing a soft red dress, one that hugged her curves magnetically. Oliver couldn't help notice the slope of her breasts against the tight fabric, which also cradled the arch of her back and butt, perfectly. Oliver felt he had always been the kind of kid who appreciated the wrapping on a present, as oppose to what was actually underneath. There was something about the surprise and curiosity of the moment right before the big reveal that really excited him. Although now that the thought had entered his mind, he found, in this instance, that he desired both equally. Oliver cleared his throat, and redirected his thoughts, before his imagination got him in trouble.

"Felicity," he breathed her name, hearing the relief in his voice.

"Sorry- I wasn't eavesdropping or anything," she said, moving toward him. He watched her walk, heels dragging ever so lightly against the pavement as she used a hand to gesture. "I just came in on the end of the conversation, that's it."

Oliver was still staring at her, drinking her in, like he couldn't get enough. She still had her glasses on, but her hair was different; part of it up and part of it down, as the lowered half was splayed over her right shoulder in a sea of curls.

"What?" She said, after catching him staring. She brought a hand up to touch her hair, patting part of it down. "Is one of my wispy's loose again? I swear I used an entire bottle of hairspray on just _one_ side…"

Oliver broke into a smile as he cast his gaze down to her legs, like a naughty schoolboy who's been caught.

"No," he said, looking back up at her, only this time focusing on her eyes. "I just- I wasn't expecting to see you here."

Oliver wanted to tell her she looked beautiful, but he also didn't want to scare her off, so he bit his tongue.

Felicity relaxed and gave him a knowing look. "Pretty sure you did say 'see you there' last time we talked."

Oliver shrugged. "Well yeah, but that was overconfidence on my part, in the hopes that you would humor me."

Felicity shook her head and placed a hand on her hip. "Oliver Queen, talking a big game. What a shocker."

Oliver looked away briefly as he smoothed his hands over the railing. "I'm glad you're here," he finally said, more serious than intended.

Felicity shrugged, shifting the tone again. "Almost didn't make it in. I had to use my loud voice to convince the bouncer that Mr. Oliver Queen himself who- in a totally non-stalker way- tracked me down to personally invite me to this party."

Oliver laughed. "It _did _take some effort to find you," he said, moving in closer to her, as they both leaned over the railing.

"Ah- the IT department- a labyrinth of wonder."

Oliver pursed his lips as a thought entered his mind. "Speaking of- that_ is_ an interesting hobby you have."

"Computer coding? Why?"

"I don't know," Oliver said, turning to face her so his body was leaned up against the railing. "Most people volunteer at an animal shelter or a children's hospital."

Felicity nodded. "Allergic to dogs and children tend to get too handsy," she said, making a suggestive grabbing motion, which made Oliver laugh. "I'm better with an emotionless, cold block of wires and plastic."

"So why not do that?"

Felicity furrowed her eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

"Instead of being a physical therapist, why don't you just work in the IT department?" Oliver asked, a couple farther down the balcony letting out a loud laugh. "Not that you aren't great at what you do- trust me- but you seem more passionate about that computer stuff. You didn't even hear me walk up to you the other day- you were so invested in the thing."

Felicity stared at him for a long moment, her eyes bouncing between his lips and eyes. "I- It's complicated."

Oliver snorted. "Isn't it always? Apparently I'm supposed to stat this club with my friend Tommy but this is the last environment I want to be in right now. I want to do some actual good for this city, and I think it starts with this mess my father left behind."

Felicity hummed. "Have you had anymore weird 'dreams' about him lately?" she asked, inserting quote marks around the word dream.

Oliver held up his hands and shook his head. "No way. I promised you no memory talk would be discussed on this night. Right now we are just two people living in the present."

Felicity laughed, bringing a hand up to her mouth to stifle her giggling. "Alright," she said, after a few people looked down their way.

"Siblings?"

Felicity looked at Oliver and pursed her lips. "No, only child. Although I used to carry around my pet turtle when I was nine and tell people he was my adopted brother."

Oliver let out a small laugh as something familiar popped into his head. "Weird. I actually think my family used to have a pet turtle too. Saw it in a picture with Thea today."

"Oh," Felicity said, pausing, before looking away. "Strange coincidence, I guess."

Oliver hummed as he moved on. "Favorite color?"

Felicity snorted. "Seriously?"

"What?" Oliver asked, hiking an eyebrow. "It's a serious question."

"_Be_ a little more clichéd," Felicity said, but she was smiling.

"Not clichéd at all. What someone's favorite color is can tell a lot about that person," Oliver said, serious, despite the twitch in his lips.

"Really?"

"Scouts honor," he said, holding up three fingers.

Felicity eyed him suspiciously. "Red," she said, finally.

Oliver pursed his lips, pretending to consider it. "Someone who is firm on what she believes in, strong, enough quirk to make her relatable… blonde… eyeglasses-"

Felicity let out a laugh. "You're basically just describing _me_."

"I guess it _does_ work."

Felicity punched him lightly in the arm as he let out a laugh. Oliver then turned to her, watching the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled, lips rolling whenever she was thinking about something.

"Will you go out to dinner with me?" He said it before his brain could even process what he was thinking. Similar to how he had called her impulsively the other night. Something about being around her made him want to take chances.

Felicity stopped smiling as she slowly turned to him. "Will I- go to dinner with you?"

"Yes."

There was a beat.

"I don't think so," her words were like a hard blow. She looked saddened by this, regretful even, which frustrated him beyond belief.

"Is it for the same reason you won't work with me?" Oliver asked, crossing his arms over his chest, confused.

Felicity sucked in a breath. "No…" She said, but she was hesitant.

"Then what's the problem?" He asked, moving toward her, but she mimicked his movement with a step back. "I enjoy talking to you and being around you, and I wouldn't say I'm completely crazy in thinking that you feel the same about me."

Felicity wasn't looking at him. "Oliver- I- of course I enjoy being around you, it's just-"

He waited.

Felicity turned back to him and swallowed. "I have a boyfriend."

In that instance, a memory came flooding back. Oliver remembered it was a sunny day, sometime in spring, and he was very young. It was during soccer practice, he was in the goalie net. He had missed a couple shots, which had infuriated the coach. Flying clipboards and lots of cussing. Coach had told Oliver to go stand in the goal, as the rest of his team grabbed a ball and lined up in front of the net. As punishment for the missed goals, his coach had the team kick soccer balls at him. He didn't know how long he was there, but he remembered the pain of each blow, as he stood there motionless. Specifically, he remembered one kick by Donny Sumner- which hit him straight in the chest- it was the only thing he could compare to the pain he felt now, following Felicity's words.

"Oliver?" Felicity sounded concerned. He could feel her hand on his arm as he realized he was bent over the railing, the feeling of that spring day beating into the back of his head.

Suddenly there was a bright flash, one that made Oliver dizzy. They both turned to their left, where a guy with a camera was standing, his arm lowering the device as he grinned widely.

"Got it," he said, and then moved so fast, Felicity barely had a moment to respond.

"Who was that?" Felicity asked, long after he was gone. She turned back to Oliver, who was standing up straight now.

Oliver sighed, smoothing out his shirt. "The press."

Felicity blinked. "Should we-?"

"I got this," Oliver said, reaching out to graze Felicity's arm, before hesitating. He then left before she could respond.

* * *

><p>"Dude, where have you <em>been<em>?" Tommy asked, as Oliver walked up to his friend, who was stationed at the bar. Tommy had two girls on either side of him, giving Oliver a raised eyebrow as if to say 'do you see what you've been missing?' Oliver noticed that the group of men he had seen earlier had moved higher up, their eyes still tracing over the area as they marked something down on a sheet of paper.

"Trying to find some dumb ass photographer," Oliver said, hearing the anger flicker in his voice, he turned his attention back to Tommy. "On top of humiliating myself."

"That's old news," Tommy said, waving a hand. "What isn't old news is that a pack of hot models from Brazil- _Brazil- _just walked in. They said they were lost and ended up here, so I think it's time you part the sea and show them the way Moses. This is your night, you've earned it."

Oliver just stared at Tommy. "You're a real ass, you know that?"

"What?" Tommy frowned. "_What?" _Oliver didn't say anything. "Oh come on, don't go brooding in a corner, I threw this party for _you_."

Oliver shook his head. "No, you didn't Tommy. You threw this party so your band of investors-" Oliver gestured to the group of men above. "-can see how well you draw in a crowd. I'm done being your pawn. Have a great fucking night."

Oliver then reached over the bar and snatched up a bottle of some liquor. Yanking off the top, he took a big swig, before pushing away from his stool and into the roar of the crowd.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> I know. I know. But don't ya'll worry. A LOT of your guys' questions will be answered in the next chapter, promise.

Also, I'm always looking for ways to improve my writing. So PLEASE leave feedback if you have any suggestions, they are greatly appreciated.

Thanks! *hugs*


	4. Interlude

**Author's Note:** This is an interlude from the normal pacing because I thought it was vital to the storyline, plus may help you all better understand some of what's coming up in future chapters. It's from Felicity's POV too, so I thought it would be best to break it into its own section. (still in the same timeline sequence from last chapter) Happy reading! Review please!

* * *

><p>Felicity settled into her living room couch, a cup of coffee cradled in both hands as she hugged her legs closer to her chest. Taking a sip from the dark liquid, she traced an outline of Tweedy Bird on her pajama pants as her mind played back the events from the night before.<p>

After their conversation, Oliver had sprung downstairs to track down the photographer who had tactlessly taken their picture. Felicity had gone after him- to explain herself- but lost him somewhere in the sea of dancing. It was somewhat true- when she told him she had a boyfriend- it was only murky because she didn't really know what else to call Cooper. She was still trying to sort out what exactly he meant to her. They had never put a label on their relationship, but well, she knew they were sleeping with only each other, frequently cuddling and had fairly consistent dates. She had known Cooper since high school, where they had been friends, but they hadn't even attempted anything romantic until just recently. Things were good between them, and she didn't want anything to mess up the trajectory of their relationship.

But then Oliver Queen happened- gorgeous, wonderful, Oliver Queen- who had popped back up into her life, like a lost boat on the horizon. After he had suggested they stop working together, she knew that it was probably for the best. Despite Moira's request, the thought of him remembering her and realizing she had been withholding information from him their entire time together, made her heart hurt. Even after all these years, she couldn't bare to see him in pain. But he had kept showing up- over the phone, at her work- and she hated the frightful yet giddy feeling she got whenever he found her again. She didn't want to stay away- not really- but she hated lying to him like this. And then there was Cooper- honest and blunt Cooper, who-

Just as she thought this, there was a knock on her door. She froze, and looking down, she realized she had been so caught up in her own thoughts, she hadn't even heard her phone buzzing.

"Felicity, it's me," she heard Cooper's voice on the other side of the door. Placing her cup on the coffee table, she stood and walked over. Swinging the door open hastily, she tried to force a comforting smile as she caught sight of him leaning up against the doorframe. Cooper, on the other hand, did not even try to look pleased.

"Hey," she managed, ignoring his dismal look, as she took a step back so he could come inside. She tugged the bottom of her tank top down as she maneuvered her way back toward the couch. "What's up?"

She heard him pause in the living room before finally moving over to her. "Where were you last night?"

Felicity picked up her coffee again as she watched Cooper walk over to the other end of the couch.

"Oh- just out and about," she said, looking up at his flushed face. Cooper's hair was in disarray, bangs sticking to his forehead as the back stood up, slightly- looking windblown. He was holding some kind of rolled up paper, tight in his hands.

"Did you-" Felicity asked, hiking an eyebrow. "-run here?"

Cooper shook his head and sat down. Moving closer to Felicity, she realized that rather than being windblown, he was actually furious. Hands shaking, eyes bulging, blood boiling- furious. She opened her mouth, about to comment on his state of mind, but then Cooper threw the paper down on the coffee table. Her eyes shot to it, scanning over the front page of some tabloid. There- in the surprise of the flash- was her and Oliver. He had his head bent, eyes cast down to the ground as her hand was resting on one of his arms, a comforting look in her eye.

OLIVER QUEEN, BACK ON THE SCENE. Bolded in a headline.

"What the hell is this?" Cooper asked. Rarely had Felicity ever seen him angry- frustrated, sure- but angry? Hardly.

Felicity sighed. "I told you I was helping an old friend with something-"

"But Oliver-_fucking_-Queen?"

"Yes," Felicity said, trying to keep her voice calm. "His mother asked me to help with his memory."

Cooper stared at her hard. "You of all people should know to stay out of the Queen's family issues, Felicity."

She felt her irritation flare. "Just because I told you what happened years ago, doesn't mean you can use that against me whenever you feel like it."

She felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment and hate. Cooper was shaking his head as he turned away from her. "He's still that same person who…" There was a pause. "Broke your heart."

Felicity swallowed, a burn settling in the back of her throat.

"One little memory swipe isn't going to change that- at least not for long," Cooper said, his voice lower. "When he remembers…"

"Go," Felicity said, then, a little gentler: "please."

She stayed where she was, a pain heavy in her chest as she felt Cooper's hand slowly move to pat her leg.

"I just don't want to see you get hurt again," he said, she heard him swallow. "Felicity, I-"

"I don't want to talk," she said, her voice low, realizing the irony of her words.

Cooper sat there for another moment, and when he realized she wasn't going to offer anything more, he stood. Turning, he left the tabloid on the table, walking briskly toward the exit.

Felicity heard him hesitate a moment after opening the door. "I hope you know what you're doing," he said, his voice sounding distant.

Then he was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

Oliver cracked open yet another door and peaked his head through the opening, relieved to find that the room was empty. He had spent a good portion of his night walking aimlessly around while taking swigs from the handle in his hand. He grew tired of talking to people who grasped onto his arm, and leaned into his side like the gesture meant they had shared some kind of intimate secret. The 'glad you're better' remarks and 'we should catch up' offers were creating a dull but consistent headache. If it wasn't the swarm of people or loud bumping music, there was Felicity's quick words that created a new wave of pain that rode through his skull like a tsunami.

_I have a boyfriend._

Why hadn't she told him before? Why had she let him pull her deeper into his life without letting him know the rope was so thin it could break this easily? Oliver realized, immediately after this thought, that he hadn't fully recognized the overwhelming feelings he had for the woman. Sure he had always thought her gorgeous and smart, not to mention being able to talk him through any sore situation, but this was different. He could feel a burning ache in his chest and the knocking of his heart. He felt like he was losing something he had been holding onto for a lifetime. Oliver moved toward the back of the room, spotting a dark hallway, where he knew he could escape the strobe lights and buzzing chatter. Surely he would get over this. According to the general population, he was infamous for picking up and dropping women like yesterdays newspaper. He was trying to hold onto his pride but the only thing present was the feeling of ugly jealousy.

"Oliffferr," a voice, coming from down the dark hallway, stopped him. Oliver froze, narrowing his eyes as he peered down. He considered just turning and walking away, chalking it up to just another couple making out or supposed 'friend' looking for a grope session. "Come herreee."

Oliver paused, aware that the woman was clearly drunk and whinny, but the last thing he wanted to do was go out into a sea of bodies that- at this point- were willing to throw themselves at a light post if it meant getting some action. So Oliver sighed and moved further down the hallway until he finally spotted a shadowed figure sitting, leaned up against a wall. The light from behind him shone dimly on her face, and he realized immediately that he knew her from somewhere. This made his heart jump at the possibility, but then he recognized that he had only seen her earlier that night. She was the drunken red head who had pulled Laurel away.

The girl stuck out her hand aggressively, clawing at his pant leg as she attempted to yank him down to the floor. Oliver obliged, leveling down to meet her crossed and dazed eyes. She was in a severely drunken state of mind that was only going to be repaired with time, Advil, and a lot of water. Oliver was about to offer to take her home, since it was clear that Laurel or whoever her friends were had left her, but she was mumbling out words before he could start.

"You don't recognize me do you?" She said, patting his knee lightly, like he was the vulnerable one.

Oliver didn't even try.

"No."

"Well," she said, clearly disappointed by his answer. "You should, considering I was the one that cussed your ass out every time you cheated on Laurel."

Oliver tried to break up her messy words as he played with the cap on the handle of vodka. This didn't surprise him, but he still felt a lurch in his stomach.

"I'm sure I deserved it," he said, suddenly feeling very tired and wanting nothing more than to be done with this conversation.

Oliver looked down at red head, and saw a small and sloppy smile appear on her lips as she rolled her tongue around in her mouth. "You did. But at least you never slept with me or something- I mean, a rando is still bad- but a _best friend_… that's pretty messed up."

Red head looked up at him, her lips pursing before she parted them. "But I guess you and Tommy are the type of best friends that share everything."

Oliver furrowed his eyebrows and stared down at the girl, seeing the humor behind her words, but also the truth.

"What did you say?" Oliver placed the handle on the ground as he leaned closer.

Red head ignored his words as she reached out for the bottle. "Mind if I take a swig of that?"

Oliver looked down at her outstretched hand, then back up at her.

"I think you've had enough."

Red head stuck out her lips in a pout as she retracted her hand and crossed her arms. "You're no fun."

Oliver didn't respond and after a minute, her head lulled back against the wall and he realized she had reached the stage of either passing out or throwing up and he didn't want to be the one dealing with either. Standing, he moved back toward the exit. Down the hall he found a security guard who he directed toward the woman. He then started down the stairs, noticing that the buzz of the party had dialed down to a low hum of music and limited chatter. People were starting to leave.

Oliver spotted Tommy, who was leaned up against one of the bar stools, completely engrossed in a conversation with a pretty brunette. Oliver tried to get his thoughts into some kind of order or manageable timeline, but like so much of the past few months, he had trouble computing exactly what he was feeling. By the time he reached Tommy, Oliver had reached a kind of calm.

"I'll be moved out by tomorrow night," Oliver said, without warning. Tommy turned around abruptly, his eyes glazed over from some type of drug.

"What?"

"I'll pick my stuff up tomorrow evening." Oliver then replaced the handle in his hand back into the place he had originally snagged it from, like it had never left.

Tommy turned back to the brunette and gave her some kind of hand signal as if to say 'give me a moment' before turning back to Oliver. "Listen Oliver, if this was about earlier tonight-"

"-it's not-"

Tommy brought a hand up to scrub across his face. "Just let me apologize-"

"For what?" Oliver asked, surprised at how calm his voice sounded. "For sleeping with my ex-girlfriend while we were still together? Or trying to pretend like you never did and lying to me in the process?"

Tommy was clearly not expecting this because he now had one hand braced against the bar counter as he leaned into it, his eyes cast down toward the floor.

"Laurel's friend told me," Oliver said, because he could see the confusion written all over Tommy's face. "But don't bother trying to explain. I probably wouldn't believe you anyways."

Not waiting for Tommy to respond, Oliver turned and left. He didn't feel anger, maybe because he didn't particularly care- or maybe because a part of him already knew- either way, distance from the people of his past was clearly needed.

Oliver walked toward the door, feeling jittery and sober. The buzz he had been maintaining fairly consistently throughout the night had worn off pretty quickly within the past few minutes. Now all he felt was lonely and tired. Just as he thought this, he smacked shoulders with some guy who was trying to push past him in a hurry. Something hard, which was dangling heavily from the guy's neck, hit Oliver in the stomach, making him grunt. The frantic man turned around, about to apologize, until they locked eyes.

Oliver immediately recognized who the guy was.

In a weak attempt to escape, the man whipped back around, nearly tripping in the process as he doubled forward. But Oliver was quick, as he reached out a hand, snagging the hood of the guy's jacket and pulling him back.

Oliver turned the guy around and narrowed his eyes, recognizing the sloppy grin and tousled hair of the paparazzi, who had taken his and Felicity's picture. He had a disheveled look to him, sporting dirty converse, tight jeans, and loose faded t-shirt. Oliver figured this was probably the kind of kid he used to beat up in high school.

"I've been looking for you." Oliver's words produced an alarm look in the photographer's eyes.

"Whoa there, Queen," the guy said, with a nervous laugh. He lifted his hands in defense, as Oliver kept a firm grip on the guy's jacket collar. "Just doing my job."

"I'm going to need that picture," Oliver didn't bother asking as he reached for the black camera strapped to the guy's body.

The photographer squirmed away, trying to release himself from Oliver's grip, but it was useless. "Dude, Oliver, it's just a harmless picture. You used to love when I shot you back in high school."

Oliver's eyes shot up. "You- _what_?"

The guy stopped trying to weasel out of Oliver's grip as he paused, slightly out of breath, and gave a lop-sided smile. "It's me, Wesley Stroff?"

Oliver just stared at him.

"I was the photographer for our high schools yearbook? I was always following you and your friends around taking photos." He was petting his camera now, eyes cast down at it. "Yearbook always wanted your photos- the ladies loved you."

Oliver released Wesley, sighing loudly as he brought his index and thumb up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"Hey man, don't feel bad about not remembering," Wesley said, grinning. "I heard about the whole accident thing, besides, it's not like we were friends or anything-"

Oliver stopped listening to Wesley babble, wanting nothing more than to go home, although he didn't know where that was anymore. He was moving out of Tommy's apartment, and there was no way that he was going back to his mom's place. He would have to figure something out.

Wesley was still talking when Oliver tuned back in.

"- always had the biggest crush on Felicity, and you two used to be close, so when I saw the you together tonight, I had to take a picture, for old times sake. Plus my boss is always looking for a pic-"

"Wait," Oliver's eyes shot up, looking at Wesley. "What did you say about Felicity?"

"Felicity Smoak? Yeah biggest crush on her sophomore year of high school- great body and that-"

Oliver held up a hand. "Not that. You said her and I used to be close?"

Wesley looked confused as he cocked his head to the side. "Yeah. You guys were, like, best friends up until middle of junior year. Something happened and- I don't know- I just stopped seeing you two together."

Oliver felt an odd rush, like cold water running down his body, making him shiver and see everything with a new clarity.

He knew her before the accident? Before Laurel, Tommy, and college? Which meant he had known her before his father died. Another secret to unravel, another lie to uncover, the difference being that Felicity was the last person he expected to associate with any of this.

"Do you have any of those old yearbooks?" Oliver asked, his voice sounding strange.

Wesley's eyes perked up. "Oh yeah- sure."

Oliver pointed at his camera. "If I let you keep that photo for whatever messed-up tabloid you work for, will you show me those yearbooks?"

Wesley was practically giddy. "Yeah of course." He then moved hesitantly away from Oliver as he gestured for him to follow. "They're back at my apartment."

* * *

><p>"Sorry about the mess," Wesley said, as he kicked and shoved various pieces of clothing and other objects from the entryway. "Wasn't really expecting company."<p>

Oliver didn't say anything as he followed the gangly man through the narrow hallway and into what looked like a living room. There was a Cheez-It box shoved into one of the couch cushions and the whole apartment smelled like a mixture of mold and cologne. Oliver took a seat on the armrest of a chair, careful not to step on a stack of magazines by his feet.

"Gimme a second," Wesley said, as he threw his jacket onto a table and headed into a back room. Oliver looked around, not realizing until this moment how out of it he had been. The whole cab ride to the apartment had consisted of Wesley rehashing certain instances in high school that Oliver didn't remember, although he _should_, like the time he scored the winning goal during the championship soccer game against Union. Or the time he punched Landon Hayes in the face for trying to egg his house, and _then_ egging Landon's house afterwards. But all Oliver could think about was how Felicity had probably been there during these moments, how she had most likely stood on the sideline during his winning point, cheering and shouting. Or how she had maybe tried to talk him out of punching Landon in the face _and_ egging his house. Never mind the boyfriend thing- this hurt more- but he had to be sure this wasn't a ruse, because he couldn't imagine her keeping something like this from him. Surely she would have known how this would affect him, how keeping him in the dark would ruin whatever relationship they had built.

But the second Wesley plopped a yearbook down on the coffee table in front of him, and turned to page thirty-seven, he felt his heart sink, because there she was, a little younger, with slightly darker hair and a soft smile. He was standing right next to her, leaned up against a cement column as he spoke to her. His lips were frozen in a half smile half open-mouthed motion, his eyes set on her bright face. She was holding a textbook in her hand, a tight shirt and flowing skirt tucked around her body.

Before Oliver could scan the picture again, Wesley flipped to another page where both him and Felicity were in a group photo. He was in a soccer jersey, clearly post-game, due to a thin veil of sweat over his brow. She was tucked under his arm, with one of her hands around his waist as the other latched onto another player, who was on the other side of her. Felicity was leaning into him like it was the most comfortable and natural thing in the world.

Oliver rubbed a hand over his face as Wesley kept flipping through pages, explaining each photo and what he remembered about them together.

"Everyone always thought you two would date," Wesley said, when he stopped on a picture of them laughing, in their sophomore year yearbook. "But something was always holding her- or you- back. I don't know. Then, senior year, it was like you two had never known each other at all."

Oliver studied the picture briefly, testing his emotions, before deciding that he was done waiting for answers. Nevermind what the doctors or his mother said. He was finding that the best way to remember, was to gather all these pictures, instances and fragments of a whole, and piece them together. One by one, person-by-person, until he could form a picture that he, at least, understood. He knew it started with Felicity; she was clearly the heart of his old life and that missing piece, he just didn't realize it until now.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Sorry it took me, like, five years to update. Life got in the way. Not sure if you guys are enjoying this story or not, but I love writing it. I promise ALL the Olicity moments next chapter. Thanks for reading! Review please!

Tumblr: olicitygif


	6. Chapter 6

_Sorry for the delay! Classes and work are keeping me busy but here's a little something' thanks for reading ya'll. _

Oliver hauled the bag over his shoulder and scooped up two boxes, grunting against the weight. They mostly contained trophy's from when he used to play soccer, stacks of magazines featuring stories about him or his family, and a bunch of miscellaneous crap. He didn't understand why these things were necessary to keep, but obviously the old him was something of a hoarder. Oliver had told Tommy the night before that he would be by in the evening to pick up his stuff- but he found himself lying awake on Wesley's couch, in the early hours of the morning, unable to sleep. So he had forced himself up, slipped out the door, and decided to get a start on moving – luckily, Tommy wasn't home. Now, Oliver pulled the last box out of the cab and set it down next to the others on the driveway in front of his mother's house. He planned on dropping off everything and hopefully, being able to talk with Moira. He had called Raisa earlier that morning, telling her he would be swinging by around ten, but she said Moira hadn't been home all night. 'Working late at office' she said, before convincing Oliver that he should still come and stay for brunch.

Oliver paid the driver and thanked him before grabbing up a couple boxes and walking through the front door. Immediately upon entering, he spotted Raisa in the foyer, her eyes wide with relief and surprise.

"Oh good, you came," she said, padding over to him and engulfing his large frame in her short arm span. "You have a visitor."

Oliver placed the boxes on a table nearby and raised an eyebrow. "A visitor?"

"He came by an hour ago and I said- _o het!-_ you were not here but you would be by soon," Raisa said, her eyes jumping around, clearly nervous about having someone she didn't know in the house. "So he waited."

Oliver glanced behind Raisa, into the living room, where he could see the back of some guy's head. He left the boxes and moved past her, cautiously, walking into the room. The guy still hadn't turned around, even when Oliver walked up behind him, too involved in whatever was on his phone's screen.

"Hey," Oliver said, clearly catching the guy off guard, who jumped at the boom of his voice. Some skinny man with stringy hair that brushed the top of his eyebrows lunged up from his seat and turned around. He had wild eyes, but they calmed when he realized Oliver wasn't coming after him.

"Hey- Oliver," the guy's voice was uneven and nervous, like a twelve-year-old going through puberty.

They both didn't say anything for a moment, drinking in the prospect of each other. Oliver could feel the guy was either intimidated or anxious- he kept jumping from one foot to the next.

"Your hair," the guy finally said, lifting a hand to gesture at Oliver's head. "It got shorter."

Oliver didn't say anything as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, waiting for an explanation. The guy must have sensed this because he shook his head and began to introduce himself.

"Sorry- I'm Cooper," he said, his words breaking into fragments. "Forgot you don't remember much after, well, you know…"

Oliver did know, but he was tired of people pointing it out.

"Why are you here?" Oliver didn't bother trying to remember Cooper, but judging by his jumpy disposition, he got the feeling that they hadn't exactly been friends.

Cooper's eyes suddenly got very serious, like he had just now remembered his mission. "Right, well, I'm kind of Felicity's- something."

Oliver's ears burned at the sound of Felicity's name, her face popping into his mind, all those yearbook pictures staring back at him. He turned his attention back to Cooper, who was clearly waiting for some type of reaction.

"You're the boyfriend," Oliver said, hating the way the words sounded coming from him.

Cooper perked up at this, his cheeks turning pink rapidly. "Yeah- no- I don't know. We were dating, I guess."

"You guess?" Oliver asked, scrunching his hands into fists.

Cooper sighed, already looking exhausted, like he had just finished a sprint.

"Look, I've known Felicity since high school, back when you guys were close…" Cooper was clearly expecting Oliver to be shocked by this, because he paused dramatically. But when he realized he wasn't going to get a reaction, he continued. "It's actually kind of funny…"

Cooper paused again and looked away from Oliver at the couch in front of him, his mind working to form words.

"I never made a move in high school because you were always in the picture," Cooper said, shifting uncomfortably under Oliver's gaze. "I knew I could never compete with you. Then you were suddenly out of the picture and when I finally got the balls to ask her out you get in this car accident."

Oliver frowned but didn't say anything.

"Then, apparently, your mother came sniffing around asking for Felicity's help," Cooper said, his voice sounding more normal now. "And I kept seeing this giddy glimmer of something in Felicity's eyes for the past couple weeks- thinking it was because of me- but it wasn't, it was because of _you."_

Oliver cast his eyes toward the window, hoping Cooper couldn't see the shock in them.

"I think- when I realized this- I knew I wouldn't ever completely have her, because she was still in love with you."

Oliver felt his heart against his chest- big heaving jumps that collapsed into him.

"- but I just came by to tell you the truth, because I know she probably isn't going to anytime soon, and also ask you not to be pissed at her- ok? Cause you really broke her heart in high school, I mean-"

"Cooper," Oliver said, his voice dominating.

Cooper's eyes shot forward, as if he was shocked Oliver was speaking. "Yeah?"

"I'm not going to hurt her."

Cooper clearly wasn't expecting this because he began to twitch again, jumping from one spot of the living room to the next like a nervous dog. "Yeah- good…"

He looked like he wanted to say more but Oliver began to turn away from him.

"Thank you for stopping by," Oliver said, in a dismissive tone.

Taking the hint, Cooper nodded, like he had gotten his point across and then moved toward the foyer so quickly, Oliver hardly saw him leave. A second later he heard Raisa's small feet moving into the entryway, sliding along the carpet until she was next to him.

"Food now?" She asked, patting his arm like a concerned mother. Oliver smiled down at her, trying to ease her worried look as he enveloped one of her hands in his own, leading her toward the kitchen.

"Only if you will join me."

* * *

><p><em><span>Interlude <span>_

Oliver had called her.

Unfortunately, she had missed the call- jumping into the shower seconds before he rang. When she came out, she saw she had a voicemail from him. Felicity noticed the way her throat ran dry when she heard his voice on the other end.

"Hey- Felicity," There was a pause. "-I really need to talk to you. Give me a call when you get this."

So she had, hoping she could explain the whole Cooper thing, but he just told her to meet him at his mother's house. That was it. He sounded distant on the phone, but not in a way that would lead her to believe that she had hurt him, more in a way that had her thinking he was hiding something from her. She would have laughed at the irony of the situation, if her stomach hadn't been in such tight knots.

While getting dressed, she replayed the past couple weeks with Oliver. The night he called her and the way she had pressed the phone so close to her ear- just to hear his breathing. It had been so long since she heard his voice through the phone. In high school, when he called her, it was usually an emergency, otherwise he would have just come over to her house. When Oliver had found her at work, his dazzling smile falling on her face, she knew that she was royally screwed. She felt the feelings she had for him in high school bubble up again, but this time they were stronger. Before she told Moira she would work with Oliver, Felicity promised herself that she wouldn't fall for him. She told herself that he would end up hurting her again, which would bring back a whole mess of anger and resentment that was supposed to be reserved for her father.

Felicity adjusted her glasses and glanced at herself in the mirror. She had thrown all these obstacles at him, Cooper being the most recent, and yet he still found a reason to be around her. Suddenly she felt this new and painful idea floating around in her head.

"When he finds out," she said to her reflection. "He's going to hate you."

She stared at herself for a second longer before grabbing her purse and heading out the door.

* * *

><p><em>thud. thud. thud. <em>

Felicity could hear the familiar sound of an arrow plunging into a target from the inside of the Queen house. Raisa was leading her toward the backyard where, apparently, Oliver was having target practice.

"He's shooting again," Felicity said to the small woman, who gave her a knowing smile, but didn't say anything.

Felicity hadn't seen Oliver shoot an arrow in years. Not since the stretch of those high school summers, where she had lounged in his backyard, while he shot at leaves that danced across the grass in the warm breeze. There were times, when he got angry about something, that she would find him back here- that consistent thud echoing, like an frantic bird trying to beat its way out of a cage.

Stepping onto the back porch, Felicity saw Oliver about twenty feet away, his form strong as he drew back an arrow. She could practically see the concentration on his face as he breathed in and out, his chest rising and falling rhythmically. Then he let it fly. The arrow zipped toward the target, landing just barely inside the bullseye. Felicity felt her breath catch.

"Wow," she said, grabbing Oliver's attention. He turned to her, his eyebrows hiked as he watched her in the hazy twilight.

He briefly glanced back at the target as Felicity made her way toward him. She counted the steps it took to close the distance between them, like counting down to some grand reveal.

"I didn't think I would remember," Oliver said, pausing as he looked at Felicity, who now stood beside him. "But then I picked up the bow and it was effortless. It all came back to me, like I hadn't stopped shooting in the first place."

Felicity nodded. "This is great," she breathed.

"It's kind of like being with you," Oliver added after a moment. Felicity looked up at him, raising an eyebrow. "At first I thought it would be hard for me to connect with anyone after my accident- but with you, it felt like we'd known each other forever. Talking to you was easy, like shooting an arrow."

Felicity studied him for a moment, then she heard a voice in her head say_: He knows. _

The moment this thought popped into her head, she felt her blood run cold. Felicity didn't know how she came to this conclusion, but she guessed that was the benefit of knowing someone since they were young, sometimes one just _knows_, like a sixth sense.

"You know… about us," Felicity didn't like how her words came out- unsure and shaky- but Oliver didn't seem to notice as he slowly nodded. She didn't want to look him in the eye, but she forced herself to, willing to embrace the consequences.

"I ran into Wesley Stroff last night- he was the paparazzi-" Oliver said, placing his bow in its case. It took Felicity a moment to place that name, but then an image of a lanky hipster kid popped into her mind and she remembered he used to be on yearbook in high school. "-he showed me pictures of us in high school, back when we were close. Then, if I didn't need anymore confirmation, Cooper came by earlier today- miserably attempting to explain the situation."

Felicity couldn't bring herself to say anything, mainly because there were so many thoughts running through her mind and she didn't know which one to start with. She rubbed her palms together, simultaneously trying to digest and read Oliver's words and expressions. She couldn't tell what he was feeling about the situation, so she decided to make a bold move.

"I'm not going to apologize for not telling you," she said, her words quick- sounding angrier than she'd wanted them to.

Oliver stood there, hands in his pockets, swaying ever so slightly. God he was beautiful.

"I don't expect you to," he whispered, his eyes soft and tender, like he was offended she thought he would. "Expectation is the root of all heartache."

"William Shakespeare," Felicity said, like reflex. "I used to say that to you all the time."

It was true- whenever he flunked a test or his mother didn't come to another one of his soccer games, she told him it was all about perspective and expectations. Then she'd throw a little Shakespeare at him as he rolled his eyes and nudge her shoulder.

"See?" Oliver said now, drawing her attention back to him. "Even without trying, my mind actively finds its way back to you."

Felicity was waiting for the big blow up, where he would rightfully call her a liar and a fake. But he just stood there, staring at her like he missed her.

"So- now that you know- what do you want from me?" Felicity felt the bite in her words- daring him to challenge her, to say all the things she has been saying to herself for the past couple weeks. She suddenly felt defensive, as well as apologetic- but they were meshing together into a fit of scattered emotions. "I don't know why…"

She trailed off, wishing that her brain wasn't pulling her in two different directions. She was about to try and explain, or at least babble until some sense came out of her, but then Oliver closed the small gap between them.

The only thing she felt before Oliver's hand brushed up against her face, was a single beat from her heart, making her body tingle. His hand was warm against her already burning cheek; embers against a flame. But that was nothing compared to the way his lips felt when they fell upon her own, like she was kissing the sun. Felicity breathed into his mouth, the shock of the kiss making her step back- but Oliver wound a hand around her waist- drawing her closer. Her lips slanted over his own as she brought a hand up to rest on his chest, scrunching up the material of his shirt as she sighed against his lips. She wanted to stop thinking and feeling, just for this moment, and yet she still wanted to understand. Felicity almost gave herself over to him completely, enveloping into him like she had so many times in her dreams- but she pulled away at the last second. When she opened her eyes, he was staring down at her, steady and sure.

"Why did you do that?" Felicity whispered, moving away from his touch.

"Felicity," Oliver said as she turned around, touching her fingers to her lips, where the warmth of his own had been moments before. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. He was supposed to still be Oliver Queen, the boy who broke her heart after that hot August night when the Gambit sunk and he refused to talk to her.

_thud. _

The boy who told her she meant nothing to him.

_thud. _

The boy who couldn't even look at her during his father's funeral.

thud.

Felicity's heartbeat pounded in her ears, like an arrow against its target. She felt Oliver behind her, could hear the swish of his arm against his shirt as he reached out to touch her.

"You can't just- I have to go," Felicity wasn't sure if Oliver heard her, because she was mumbling against her fingers, which were still pressed to her lips. She didn't bother checking as she moved forward, toward the house, expecting the distant sound of his footsteps against the grass to be moving away from her.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>: I'm so happy some of you are still enjoying this story. I love reading the reviews. I clearly divided this chapter into two parts: Felicity POV and Oliver's POV. I felt like this last scene needed to be told from Felicity's perspective in order for you to understand where she is coming from. Next chapter I think you'll better understand why Oliver is reacting the way that he is, which seems so confusing to Felicity. These two have an intricate past and we're just down delving into the layers of it. Please, do let me know your thoughts- your words are inspiring!

***hugs***


	7. Chapter 7

Oliver ran his fingers along the arrows spine, before drawing it back into the string of his bow- tickling its feathers. The gesture was effortless, and as he released- the motion of the arrow projecting forward- he felt that familiar vibration travel up his arm from the whiplash.

He'd found the equipment in storage, when he was packing away his things from Tommy's apartment. He almost left the instrument- allowing it to collect more dust- but a nostalgic feeling fell upon him, so he instinctively picked up the bow. He noticed how good it felt in his hand.

Oliver had called Felicity an hour before, asking her to meet him here. At first, he didn't know what he was going to say to her. He knew that he should be angry, or at least frustrated that she had kept this secret from him. But an even greater part of him wanted to push aside the hostility and betrayal- one can't fight fire with fire. Then he'd picked up the bow and arrow, marched out to the archery range and started shooting.

Oliver got a bullseye on his first try.

He stood there for a moment- the sun drifting low over the mountains of buildings in the distance- and stared. He then picked up another arrow and aimed it at the target, once again surprised at how easy the motion was.

At that moment, he knew what he was going to say to Felicity, because being around her was like this- shooting an arrow- effortless, calming, and_ right_.

He was amazed- after a few shots- at how his memory was able to conjure up images of him as a kid, in this backyard, aiming at this same target. It was almost as if, the action of him shooting, was slowly restoring pieces of his memory.

_Actions can be triggers. _

This was something the doctors had told him earlier in his recovery. He should do things he used to, in the hopes that it would bring back a certain sensation or thought attached to that action. It was like hearing a song and immediately being able to trace it back to a certain person, place or memory- along with the feeling of that moment.

So when she had finally come- the image of her walking toward him feeling familiar- he told her how he felt about her, because it was the only thing he was really sure of at that moment.

He watched her face in the fading light, the way her lips rolled and eyes darted around like she didn't want to reveal what was going on in her head. Then she said without question: _You know… about us._

The way she said it made her sound defeated, like he had spun her around and told her to leave. He had tried to explain about Cooper and Wesley, hoping that she would calm down, but her eyes were still wide and guarded, like at any moment he might lash out.

Oliver had tried to make Felicity understand that he wasn't angry at her- he only wanted to make sense of this mess. But he could see the internal struggle she was having. She wasn't _really_ listening to him.

So he kissed her. Actions spoke louder than words. Actions could be triggers.

The moment his lips touched hers- his hands cupping her face in a fiery embrace- he felt that trigger hit him _hard_. He'd had this feeling before- a long time ago- back when he thought love was only a fantasy.

The feeling came before the images did, but slowly they trickled in, eventually intertwining together to form a scene. It was like watching a movie- a boy and girl sitting together against a wooden wall, somewhere below the Gambit, a bottle of alcohol wedged between them. They were in the middle of a brutal storm that was thrashing them this way and that, the boat moaning and groaning against the angry waves outside.

"I hate this," Felicity said, hugging herself. She was sitting to Oliver's right, the silhouette of her face prominent against the moonlight outside. The lighting had gone out, leaving the two of them in the dark, the moon being the only illumination. They could hear crewmembers above, trying to get everything under control- the two of them forced under the cabin for safety reasons. Luckily Oliver had discovered a stash of vodka in one of his father's cabinets, an easy distraction from the mess going on up above.

"Take another swig," Oliver said, offering her the bottle. "It'll help loosen your nerves."

But she shook her head, swallowing before glancing out the stained glass window. He noticed the slight shake in Felicity's hands - her discomfort making his body tense up.

"Hey," Oliver said, resting a hand on her arm. He squeezed, prompting her to turn and look at him. "It's going to be ok."

Felicity didn't look convinced, but still nodded.

She looked away from him then, but he still kept his hand steady on her arm. Felicity had never been the best swimmer, her mother rarely having time to cook dinner, never mind drive her to swim lessons. When she was faced with a problem that she didn't have the skills necessary to handle, she panicked.

"Thanks for coming with me," Oliver said, suddenly feeling bad about begging her to tag along with him and his father on the Gambit, despite her fear of water. "Even if you didn't want to."

"Don't be ridiculous," Felicity said, her eyes closed as she leaned her head back, rocking with the boat. "You're my best friend. Spontaneous and potentially dangerous boat trips are in the job description."

Oliver would have laughed, but there was heaviness in his chest. "I just didn't want to be alone with him," he said, the alcohol making his head buzz with confessions. He felt Felicity reach up and gasp his hand, which was still resting on her arm. She pulled it down and held it in her own. The warmth of her touch was comforting and he felt a burn blossoming in his chest, which seemed to only happen when he was around her.

"You're not alone," she said, somewhat serious. She capped the bottle and moved it to her right so she could scoot closer to him. "If I die tonight- I'm totally haunting your ass."

Oliver cracked a small smile. "If you go, I go," he said, lifting an arm and wrapped it around her shoulder, drawing her near.

Oliver felt Felicity shift her weight, moving so that she could see his face. "If we do die tonight-"

"_Felicity-"_

"No just listen." She said, then starting over. "If we die tonight- I wanna know- if you could go back and change one thing about your past, what would it be?"

Oliver let out a breath, like the question weighed a ton. "Little deep for sailor talk, don't you think?"

Felicity hiked an eyebrow. "I need a distraction," she said, giving him a serious look. "So humor me."

Oliver chewed on the inside of his mouth. Felicity was infamous for asking daring questions, but they mostly had to do with what girl he was onto next or, on rare occasions, what he thought her father was like. And every time he would tell her he was a lowly and shitty person that didn't deserve her attention. This question was different though, and it made him uncomfortable, not because it was her asking but because he knew she wouldn't approve of his answer.

"Nothing," he said, finally.

"Nothing?"

She didn't look satisfied by this and turned her head away from him so he couldn't see her disappointment. He had been feeling things for her lately- despite them growing up together- he felt like he was seeing her in a new light. Especially when they were touching, like this, and it usually scared him. But now, an even scarier thought popped into his mind- what if this was the end? And all they had were these last few moments?

"Felicity," Oliver said, and she looked back up at him, her porcelain skin like silk in the moonlight. "I wouldn't change anything about my past because everything that has happened, led me here, to this moment."

Felicity blinked, her mouth partially open as she replayed his words. "The moment where we all die?"

Oliver's lips twitched upwards. "No," he said, sucking in a nervous breath. "To _this."_

His lips found hers, as they were perfectly tilted up in his direction. It was a sweet kiss, innocent enough, but he could still feel the shock, as Felicity eventually broke away- opening her eyes to look up at him.

"Oliver-" she began, in a whisper, but then there was a loud and earth shattering crack that threw the boat sideways. Felicity screamed as they tumbled to the left. Oliver grabbed hold of her wrist, trying to steady her as cries erupted from the deck.

After another howl, which could have either been a person or the wind, Oliver knew he couldn't stay down here. "I have to go up," Oliver said to Felicity, pushing himself off the rug.

Felicity looked like she was about to say something, but then his name came from above. "Oliver!" It was his father- he knew immediately. Then everything shifted again.

.

.

.

"You can't just- I have to go," Felicity said now, her back to him. Oliver stood there in a daze, feeling the memory weigh heavily on his brain. She was walking away from him, her fingers pressed to her mouth as she moved toward the house.

She had been on the Gambit with him the night his father died- where he had kissed her. He couldn't believe he remembered. He began to connect the pieces- the dream he once had where his father was hanging off the railing- him standing on the side, watching, the wind screaming loud in his ears. He had questions. He couldn't let her leave.

Oliver forced himself forward, after Felicity. She was quick though, practically jogging up the house steps before walking through the backdoor.

"Felicity, stop," Oliver said, a few steps behind her before he could finally reach out to grab her arm- gently turning her to face him. The house creaked under their weight as he stopped her in the kitchen. She seemed shocked that he had followed her, breathless as he placed both of his hands on her shoulders. "I remember that night on the Gambit."

Her eyes lit up at his words, like a lighthouse on a foggy night. "Wha- How?"

Oliver paused, licking his lips. "When I kissed you…"

Felicity cast her eyes away as she bit her lip, holding something in.

"That night the Gambit went down, when I kissed you and then we hit a big wave and I went to go help my father…" It felt strange saying his thoughts out loud. "But I didn't help him, did I? I let him die."

"Oliver…" Felicity looked sorrowful now, the anger in her eyes dissipating so quickly, it was like it hadn't been there at all.

"Why did I let him die?" Oliver asked, releasing her shoulders as he stepped back. "I remember hesitating when he called out for me, and then he was gone."

Felicity was studying him, her eyes raking over his face as she reached out for him. His hands were deep in his pockets as she slid her own through the hoop of his arm.

"Come on," she said, tenderly. "I have to show you something."

She then pulled him toward the front door, and he let her.

"Where are we?" Oliver asked, just as Felicity rolled up next to a small house, the inside dark and seemingly empty.

Felicity put the car in park and took the keys from the ignition as she stared out her window. "This was where I grew up," she said, her voice weary as she glanced at him. "You used to come by all the time."

Oliver looked from Felicity to the house- the small windows and chipped paint- a place he had, apparently, been often. Felicity then opened up her car door and stepped out into the warm night. Oliver followed after her, pausing just after he closed the passenger side door.

"Is anyone home?"

"No," she said, locking the car before starting up the narrow pathway. "My mom's in Vegas right now and my dad's-"

"Not in the picture," Oliver finished, his voice soft. It was too dark to see her expression but it didn't matter because she turned away from him- hiding her reaction. He wanted to show her that he wasn't just pretending, he really did remember that night and he had been listening.

He followed after her, watching her kneel down- once they reached the rickety porch- to retrieve a key from under the mailbox. Felicity's hair fell over her face as she stood- blowing away the loose strands, she stuck the key in the lock, turning twice.

"God," Felicity said, her voice lighter, as she stepped inside and switched on a few lights. "If my mother saw you standing here right now, I think she'd have a heart attack."

Oliver hiked an eyebrow as he took in the cute farm themed curtains that hung over the kitchen sink. "Yeah?"

Felicity nodded as she moved through the dining room, throwing her purse on the kitchen counter. He wanted to ask why, but he was being choosy with his questions. Oliver trailed behind her- curious about what she wanted to show him- when she stopped suddenly and turned to him.

"I just want- I _need_- to say…" she trailed off, licking her lips as she stared at the ground. Clearly this was harder for her than him. "That I wouldn't make any of this up. What I'm about to show you- it's all true. Even though I haven't given you a reason to trust me, I promise..."

Oliver waited patiently, but she didn't continue; yet he still found himself nodding- he knew.

"Felicity, whatever it is…" he said, gently placing a hand on her arm. "I'll believe you."

She didn't look convinced but nodded anyway, sniffling before turning and continuing down the short hallway. They turned into the first room, and upon her flicking on the light, an awkward color combination of reds and purples bounced back at them. It looked like a teenage girls room, although with a little more funk and retro.

Oliver touched a bright pair of bright, neon green leggings that hung from the top of her dresser. "Could you be anymore 80's?" He asked, with a chuckle.

"Hey," Felicity said, snapping her fingers, a smile teasing her lips. "The 80's are totally underrated. And besides, those were my 80's themed party leggings."

"Who throws 80's themed parties anymore?" Oliver asked, tugging playfully at the material.

"Um," Felicity said, whipping around just as she let out a laugh. "_You_ did."

Oliver looked at her, mortified.

"What?" She said, letting out another laugh, then, jokingly: "You don't remember?"

Oliver clutched his chest, like he had physically felt her blow. "_Too soon_."

Felicity let out another laugh as she lowered herself to the floor, her hands disappearing under the bed as she rummaged around for something.

"Need help?" Oliver asked, moving down to her level. But just as he asked, she pulled out a large box, sliding it along the carpet.

Felicity suddenly became serious again, her smile faltering as she looked down at the plain brown package that sat in front of her, water stained and scribbled on.

"What's this?" Oliver asked, when she didn't make a move to open it.

Felicity brought up a hand to adjust her glasses, then sniffled. "When we stopped speaking- after that night on the Gambit- I didn't realize how much I missed talking to you. So I just started writing these letters- at first I thought I was just writing in a journal- but then I realized they were all to you. Things I wanted to tell you that day, memories, or just how much I missed you."

Felicity swallowed, her eyes moving up to Oliver's.

"They explain everything leading up to that night and after it," she said, shrugging. "It's been so long, I don't want to mess anything up. But this girl-" she gestured to the box and her room. "- she remembers every detail- better than I ever could."

Oliver watched Felicity open the box, mounds of letter's piled on top of each other, each filled from top to bottom in her loopy scrawl.

"I'm going to go make tea," she said, forcing a small smile. "Let me know if you have any questions- but before you ask- finish them all…ok?"

Oliver held her gaze, unsure of what to say as he picked up the top letter, the smooth parchment paper thick under his grip.

"You sure you want me to read all these?" He finally asked, as she moved to get up.

Felicity paused, before shrugging. "They're things I would have told you anyways," she said, leaning toward the door. "Only now I finally can."

Oliver considered this before nodding, scanning the first letter as she turned to leave- cracking the door slightly- so she could hear him turning the pages.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> I almost decided to include the letter's in this chapter, but then decided to write them into their own section because they are the climatic moment of this story and- I feel- deserve their own chapter. Pretty much everything will be explained next post, so if you're literally dying right now and want to know what the eff is going on- it will all make sense soon, stay tuned!

And again, thanks for all of you who are still reading. I love hearing your thoughts, they give me fuel to write- as you can see, your feedback encouraged me to update only a couple days after my last post. You're all fabulous and generous creatures. Thanks for the support!


	8. Chapter 8

**Warning:** This chapter is rated M. Also: I only chose to post a few letter's from the pile (the important ones) and they aren't in the order she wrote them, just in the order Oliver's reading them in. Just a heads up. Happy reading!

* * *

><p><em>Oliver, <em>

_This is ridiculous. You're literally sitting across from me right now. I can see you doing that nervous tick with you fingers, under the table. _

_I've been trying to make eye contact with you for the past ten minutes but you're listening to Mr. O'Leary talk like he's Gods gift to earth. And I _know_ for a fact you don't even like Shakespeare. You're just trying to avoid me, like you have been for the past four months. _

_God, I miss you. You're an asshole, but I miss you. _

_I know I didn't do anything wrong, but sometimes I feel like I didn't do enough. _

_Felicity_

_P.S. I've told you snapbacks aren't your thing. Clearly your fashion sense has been lacking in the wake of my absence. _

.

.

.

_Oliver, _

_You passed me today, on my way to Spanish, and I saw you had a black eye. Digg told me it was because you got elbowed in the face during soccer practice, but I kept thinking about that time last year, back when you came over to my house, late at night. My mom was in the kitchen, so you snuck in through my bedroom window because you didn't want her to see the gash over your left eye. _

_I helped you clean it up- without saying anything, because I could tell you didn't want to talk about it yet. It wasn't until I strapped three Hello Kitty Band-Aids over the cut that you finally mumbled out four words: _he used a belt.

_Your father has done this many times before, but he's only ever used his hand or- when he was coaching you in soccer- his whistle. I think that was the first night I cried about it. I never understood how you always kept it together- maintaining your stoic disposition. I feel like it wasn't until he died that you finally lost it. _

_Felicity _

.

.

.

_Oliver,_

_I'm worried about you. I know it's not my place, considering we never talk anymore and both hang out with different people. But I heard you're doing drugs and getting into fights- every time I see you there's a new black eye or more bruised knuckles. _

_Please, stop. You're not him. _

_Felicity_

.

.

.

_Hello, _

_Dear Diary, _

_Dear Oprah,_

_Oliver,_

_I've been doing this new thing where I write out all my feelings. You could call it a journal, but all the while I kept feeling like I was writing to someone. It wasn't until now that I realized that someone was you. _

_It's been a week since the Gambit incident. Here's a recap:_

_1. Bad storm_

_2. You kissed me_

_3. Robert died_

_4. You won't return my calls_

_While we were in the hospital, after being helicoptered to safety from the sinking yacht, it was like you were a different person. I tried to tell you it wasn't your fault, that Robert dying wasn't something you could have prevented, but you just had this blank look on your face like I was talking gibberish. _

_Then you said: _I wanted him to die.

_You wouldn't say anything more for the rest of the night. And the next day, when we were allowed to leave, I asked if you wanted me to come over later but you said- quite blatantly- that you didn't think we should see each other for a while. _

_Just like that. Like the past ten years of our friendship were irrelevant. _

_I didn't even know what to say, so I asked you why, and you said you needed space, so I let you be. _

_Today is Roberts funeral, it'll be the first time I've seen you since that moment outside of the hospital. Please don't push me away. _

_Felicity _

.

.

.

_Oliver,_

_I never thought anyone could hurt me as bad as my dad did when he left. _

_I was wrong. _

_Felicity _

.

.

.

_Oliver,_

_I know what you're doing. Pushing away everyone who knew you before the accident. I heard you haven't even spoken one word to Digg. Ignoring us isn't going to make what happened any better; it isn't going to make it all disappear. You can't just repress your memories because you can't handle Robert's death. _

_Even though I know you're really blaming yourself. But I don't blame you, Oliver. None of us do. _

_Felicity _

.

.

.

_Oliver, _

_I saw you kissing Jackie Sullivan today. I hear she uses too much tongue. I'm going to need some confirmation on that the moment you pull your head out of your ass and start talking to me again. _

_Felicity _

_._

_._

_._

_Oliver,_

_I ran into Moira and Thea today. I told them if they ever need anything, all they had to do was ask. They told me they missed me and that I should just give you more time. But I can't wait forever. You've clearly made your decision. _

_Before you kissed me that night, I asked if you could go back and change something about your past, what would it be. You said nothing. Well that nothing changed everything for me. It led me to this moment- right here- where I am actively deciding to let you go. And God help me if fate ever brings us back together again because I will always love you. _

_No matter what._

_Felicity _

* * *

><p>Oliver dropped the last letter back into the box. He could feel that his eyes had glazed over, his head buzzing with Felicity's words. He glanced up from his place on her bedroom floor, looking at the partially cracked door. She was out there somewhere, probably sitting patiently at the dining room table with her tea, waiting for him.<p>

He could see the puzzle now, forming slowly in front of him, the pieces of it fitting neatly into place as he read each letter. There was at least a good fifty of them, all accounting different details of her life, the hurt and betrayal hidden behind each letter. It was his father's death and abuse that had prompted him to shut out everyone, except for the people who didn't know him. It had been easier that way, to reinvent himself. He was peeling back layer after layer, like an onion, until his past was raw and exposed. Oliver felt a sense of calm fall over him as he got up, replacing the lid of the box and shoving it back under her bed.

When Oliver walked out of Felicity's room, he still felt foggy, like he had just woken from a dream. When he made it to the entryway of the kitchen, he spotted her flipping through some magazine, head down, focused.

Felicity must have sensed his presence because a second later she glanced up, adjusting her glasses as she cleared her throat.

"Well?" She said, visibly nervous.

Oliver waited a beat- testing the moment. Then, impulsively, he moved forward, closing the space between them with three long strides. By the time he reached her, she was about to say something, but didn't have time to as his hands found the sides of her face and his mouth came down to connect with hers. Felicity didn't move away this time, and when he removed his lips for a brief moment, she snaked a hand up to his neck and pulled him back down.

All those years together and apart, bruised skin and hearts, were leading to this moment and the thousands of moments afterward that would build an even bigger picture, one that was whole, real, and alive.

Oliver pressed Felicity against the kitchen counter, moving his hands so that they trailed down her shoulders, over her breasts, to her waist, while she kept one hand steady on his neck as the other moved down his chest. He could feel her fingers tracing the grooves of his abs, down to the cut of his hips as he slid both hands under her top, her skin responding with goosebumps. Oliver smiled at this, ducking his head down to trail hot kisses along the slope of her neck, as she tugged at the base of his shirt greedily. Oliver teased the edge of her bra, sliding his finger suggestively around the perimeter of her rib cage- all the way to the back- where he smoothly unclasped the lacey hook- easy as snapping his fingers.

He kept his lips pressed against hers, afraid that if he moved away, for even a second, she would disappear. His desire for her was boundless- he could live an eternity in this moment- because she had always been his, and always would be. Oliver realized how selfish he sounded, and if she asked him to, he would leave right now- not wasting anymore of her time. But even still, he knew his mind would never stray from her. She belonged in the paradise portion of his brain- a place that could never be erased- where his thoughts wandered when things got bad. She was his solace, and alleviation from the scars of his past. He needed her far more than she would ever need him- like a thirsty man stranded in a desert- he was hungry and frantic for her taste.

Oliver discarded her bra just before she rolled his shirt up and over his head. He flung the material to the side before finding her lips again, his hands grasping the back of her thighs, hiking her up so that she was sitting on the counter. Oliver heard Felicity gasp at the sudden movement, but she recovered quickly, trickling her fingers down the smoothness of his chest, toward his shaft. He grasped both of her hands, just as they began to fumble with his belt, and brought them up over her head- holding them hostage against the cabinets behind her. He wanted to draw this out, like the stretch of years they had been apart- to feel the tension and heat of every second. He needed all of her to last longer.

Oliver spread Felicity's legs, coursing them to wrap around his waist as he moved in between. He felt her smile against his lips, her teeth hesitantly nipping at his bottom lip. Oliver released her hands as he wrapped both arms around her waist, pulled her against him, lifting her body effortlessly away from the counter without breaking the kiss.

"My room," was all she said, barely a mumble as Oliver carried her, navigating them toward the narrow hallway.

By the time they crashed down onto her bed, they were both panting, keenly aware that they'd hardly taken a second to breathe, but neither caring. Oliver hovered over Felicity, looking down at her hair, which was splayed over the purple bedspread, like a halo. When he glanced down at her face, Felicity's eyes shifted up toward him, looking at him searchingly.

"What?" She said, with concern.

Oliver teased a smile, a giddy feeling rising in his chest and he recognized the sensation immediately- it was one he had felt around her many times before.

"I love you," he said, simply and magnetically, like the words were being drawn out of him, pulling their way toward her. He watched her face carefully, the rise of her eyebrows and tuck of her bottom lip between her teeth. Oliver still saw the hesitation, the unsure pause, like she still didn't entirely believe him.

Oliver felt a hint of frustration. He would have to _show_ her then.

His hands drifted over the surface of her breast, his fingers pricking the already pebbled nipple under her shirt on his way down her body. When his hand slid under her skirt, grazing the slope of her inner thigh, a tiny noise escaped her lips. He teased the edge of her entrance, prodding the area just to get a reaction out of her.

"_Oliver_," she hissed, when he ducked down, biting and sucking the soft spot just below her ear. He waited for a split second, enjoying the way she squirmed with anticipating, silently begging him to have mercy. He brushes the outside of her underwear, rolling his palm and fingers over the surface of her opening, his fingers teasing her folds.

Felicity's fingers rake through his hair and down his back, her hips lifting slightly, so Oliver could move her underwear down. The moment his fingers entered her, she lets out a whimper, her heat alone could drive him crazy.

When he moved his head to the other side of her neck, he saw that she was biting her bottom lip, holding back a groan. He searched, fingering her until he finally found her sweet spot. When she let out a cry of ecstasy, Oliver stifled it with a kiss, wanting to taste the pleasure on her lips and know that it was because of him. They stayed like that for a minute, each breathing in the moment and each other, until Oliver moved his hand away, sliding it under the small of her back so he could lift her into a sitting position. She straddled his lap, his bulge tucking perfectly into the heat between her thighs. Felicity was breathless when their eyes met, both hands smoothed over Oliver's shoulders as she held herself steady.

"Don't tell me you're already tired," Oliver mumbled against her collarbone, her skin was fire against his lips.

"No, I-" But Felicity became distracted as Oliver dragged his lips down her chest, pausing at the edge of her shirt. In one swift motion he brought it up and over her head- discarding yet another piece of clothing as he ducked back down to tease her nipples with his tongue.

"I always wondered," Felicity breathed into his ear. "What it would feel like to be one of those cherry stems you used to tie with your tongue."

He chuckled against her skin, lifting his head so he could kiss her again- the tip of his tongue slipping into her mouth as she skimmed her hands along his chest. When she reached for his belt again, he allowed her to undo it, his hands tracing circles into her back, making her shiver with pleasure. When she took him in her hand, purposeful and confident, he hummed against her lips, holding her tighter against his body. He was lost momentarily in her movements- somewhere along the way she had retrieved a condom from her bedside drawer, rolling it onto him as he gripped her thigh. She sighed at the pressure, her hand working him as she moaned in his ear.

"_Felicity_," Oliver muttered against her jaw, keenly aware that she was teasing him- rubbing the head of his cock over her slit- just drifting above her opening. It wasn't until he traced one calloused finger from the nape of her neck down to the base of her spine that she finally slid into him- giving herself over to the bone-melting sensation. Felicity's breath came in a rush; parting her lips and knocking her head back as he rolled into her- taking control. A cracked noise left her lips as Oliver buried himself deeper; both of them moving rhythmically, like a well-oiled machine.

Oliver kept running his hands along her back, strumming the length of her spine with his fingers, like he did with the string of his bow right before shooting an arrow.

When he moved Felicity onto her back, he didn't break their connection. He wanted to see her clearly- make her understand that he wasn't going anywhere- he was in it for the long haul. Each time he thrust into her, kissed her, scaled her with his fingertips and tongue, he made her silent promises that he intended to keep.

Felicity must have sensed this because her mouth fell open a second later- her body squeezing and grinding back against him as she reached her peak. She called out his name, body pulled tight just before she released.

Oliver dropped down next to her a moment later, both breathing heavily and in synch. It took a moment before either of them could say anything, but then Felicity let out a small, breathless giggle, rolling over so that she was resting her head on his arm. "So that's what I've been missing out on?"

Oliver sighed, cracking a smile and wetting his lips as he peered down at her. They stared at each other for a moment, each feeling the other's heartbeat. Then, Felicity became serious, as she moved a hand toward his face, brushing a stray hair from the top of his forehead.

She blinked, holding his gaze a moment, before whispering: "I love you too."

She then ducked her head back down, resting it against his chest, both of them buzzing with the energy of each other.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>*grins*

Let me know your thoughts. I'm dying to hear them.


	9. Chapter 9

Oliver awoke in the early hours of the morning. The sun hadn't yet come up over the slumbering neighborhood, but the bushes that lay root just outside, tickled the glass of Felicity's bedroom window- pulling him awake. He opened his eyes and stared at the edges of ceiling for a moment, his eyelids hanging at half-mast as he listened- hearing the rise and fall of his own breath, which matched Felicity's. She was tucked under one of his arms, her hair draping over his bicep like a warm blanket as he held her against his chest. Oliver turned his head to the side, hoping to catch a glimpse of her sleeping face, but all he saw was the top of her head, a swirl of lemon drop curls. His thoughts kept bouncing back to a few hours before, where he could still feel her fingers tiptoeing through his hair and down his back, making his jaw tighten at the thought of her touch. Everything about her drew him near, like a meteor being pulled to Earth by gravity- he wanted to know everything about her, to access that portion of his brain that held information about her favorite foods and where she is the most ticklish. Felicity shifted slightly, sliding a hand up from her side so that it was resting on his stomach, her fingers tracing the divots of his abs. He knew she was awake then, and it was confirmed when she rolled her head back- big eyes staring up at him.

Felicity licked her lips and gave a small smile. "I figured you'd be gone by now- and I would find a sticky note saying 'that was fun' taped on my dresser."

Oliver pursed his lips- he knew she was joking, but he couldn't help wonder how long it would take before she realized that he wasn't going anywhere.

"Last night was more than fun," Oliver said, bringing a hand up to her face- pushing aside a stray curl.

Felicity blinked up at him, sucking on her lower lip. "It was… _unexpected_."

Oliver hiked an eyebrow, frowning.

Felicity readjusted herself so that she was sitting up- sighing, as she rubbed her sleepy eyes. "I mean- it's not like I _didn't _ever want this to happen," she said, her fingers moving to fiddle with a crease on the bed sheet. "I just never imagined that the crux of my fantasy's would manifest themselves outside the walls of my brain."

Oliver remained motionless, with his back propped up against the headboard; a heat blooming in his chest as he watched a new shade of pink strike across her cheeks.

"Unless- of course- you're having second thoughts," she said, her eyes finally meeting his, clearly hoping that this wasn't the case. "Because then that would align pretty accurately with my realistic expectations."

Oliver didn't say anything for a moment- only because he was speechless. He couldn't imagine any part of him regretting being with Felicity- that thought in itself was unfathomable, which prompted him to let out a sharp laugh.

Felicity's eyes grew wide as her blush deepened. "And now you're laughing at me- great."

"No," Oliver said immediately, reaching out to grab her hand, which was resting on her thigh. He felt it shake, making him tighten his grip, wanting to steady her nerves. "It's just- you have no idea."

Felicity frowned, glancing down at his hand on hers. Oliver was breathless as he tried to come up with a way to make her understand.

"Felicity, when I told you I loved you, it wasn't out of doubt or confusion. I don't kid myself about how I feel about you- I never have." Oliver was serious now, his gaze locked on her face as his thumb traced circles into her skin. "When every other aspect of my life was blurry and unstable… _you_ were my only clarity."

Felicity opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. "I've kept things from you."

Oliver gave her a look, shaking her head. "I never gave you a reason to trust me- after how I pushed you away… after Robert's funeral."

Felicity's eyes lit up at this- then a shadow fell over them. "So you read all of them?"

The edge of Oliver's lips teased upward. "Down to the ten page letter about your perpetual fear of kangaroo's."

Felicity's eyes widened. "They _are_ creepy," she said, jutting her chin out like she meant business.

Oliver reached out for her, taking both arms in his hands as he drew her back down to his chest. "I don't doubt it," he said, planting a quick kiss on her temple.

"And your father?" She breathed, her fingers running up the length of his arm. She stops at the cigarette marks dotted on his skin, her fingers feeling the rise of scar tissue. There was a letter about how he had gotten them- from his father, who had been so pissed when he missed seven shots during a rival soccer game that he gave Oliver seven cigarette burns for each missed goal.

Oliver instinctively moved his arm away- he didn't want her to see that part of him, even if she had been there for it all.

"I'm sorry," Felicity said against his chest, snaking her arm back in.

"Don't be," Oliver mumbled against her head. "It's just reflex."

Even still- memory or not- he could feel the ghost of a wall he'd built up so securely in the past, meant to ward off anyone who asked too many questions or knew his life too intimately. It prodded and clawed at his vulnerabilities like a hungry cat, ready to devour and cover up any weaknesses he had.

Felicity suddenly moved, pressing herself back up into a sitting position. "I should go feed Theodore," she said, swinging her legs over the side of the bed, the sheets gathering around her exposed waist.

"Who?" Oliver asked, catching her wrist, forcing her to pause.

"The turtle," she said, nonchalant. "Do you not remember the letter about Thea turtlenapping him from my house for a week? I thought the neighborhood raccoon had gotten to him."

Oliver squinted his eyes. "Vaguely."

"Well, he's been waiting to be fed all night while we deflowered my childhood bedroom," Felicity said, running a hand across the sheets. Oliver smirked at this as he leaned forward, pressing his lips against the soft spot under her ear.

"You're leaving me for a turtle?" He whispered, making her squirm from the heat of his breath against her skin. She then turned to face him, her lips hovering just above his.

"It'll keep your ego in check," she said, before planting a quick kiss on his mouth. She then stood so fast, Oliver didn't have time to grab her wrist again. He watched her saunter out of the room, her naked body glowing as the morning sun crept through the window.

Oliver sighed, turning over to grab his phone from the nightstand, expecting to see a missed call from his mother, who he had been trying to reach all yesterday. There was in fact a voicemail from her, but a solid five texts overpowered her one, as Laurel's persistent messages lined his lock screen. They all varied from 'I talked to Tommy… let me explain' to 'Forget it. It's not worth the conversation.' Oliver sighed, turning toward the door- only to find Felicity watching him from the edge of the bed, her bottom lip clipped between her teeth.

"Are you going to call her?" She asked, a hand sliding under the cusp of a bathrobe she had slipped on.

Oliver blinked. "No."

"_Oliver_," Felicity said, like she was actually disappointed he wasn't calling his ex-girlfriend back.

"Listen, Felicity," Oliver said, running a hand through his hair, trying to form complete sentences, considering the past twelve hours had only consisted of her name, God's name and fragments of phrases that would be inappropriate in any setting other than the bedroom. "Laurel cheated on me- with Tommy."

Felicity raised an eyebrow.

"Not that I care," he said, blowing out air. "She's just not top on my list of relationships I want to fix right now."

"God," Felicity said, staring at the ceiling. "This feels like an episode of Gossip Girl."

Oliver frowned. "What?"

"Nothing," she said, shaking her head as she crawled back into bed. "But at least talk to Tommy."

"And say what exactly?" Oliver asked, propping his arms up against his knees.

Felicity shrugged, pushing hair from her face. "I don't know… don't you feel like you need some kind of closure?"

Oliver gave her a doubtful look.

"I mean- I plan on talking to Cooper later today," she said, hesitantly looking up at him as she picked her nail polish.

"You do?" He asked, trying to keep his composure.

Felicity cracked a smile, bringing a hand up to his face. "Jealously looks good on you."

He let her pinch his cheek before advancing forward, backing her into the center of her bed where he coursed her down so that she was lying her back. She giggled, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, letting him bury his face in her neck, humming against her throat.

"Are you hungry?" She asked in between breaths.

Oliver moved his lips back up her neck, to her ear. "_Yes_," he said, as he hungrily moved his hands over her stomach and down to her hips where he held them steady.

"I meant _real_ food, Oliver," Felicity said, smiling as she glanced down at him.

Oliver stopped kissing her as he lifted his head, hovering just above her body as he looked down. "Only if you make your superdeliciouscantlivewithoutblueberrypankcakeswithasideoflove," he said, quoting a line from one of the letters.

He grinned as she groaned, bringing hands up over her face, biting a lip as she rolled her head back. "Maybe I should have revised the letters before giving them to you," she said, finally looking back up at him. "It would have- you know- eliminated some of the weird."

Oliver caught Felicity's chin in his hand, pulling her lip free as he laid a quick kiss on both of them. "Weird looks good on you," he said, then continuing where he left off.

* * *

><p>Oliver walked through Queens Consolidated, nodding at people he passed. He could tell that they wondered if he was going to be anything like his father- their eyes full of curiosity and the slightest hint of fear.<p>

He smoothed out his suit, pressing his tie against his chest as his eyes moved past them and actively searched for his mother. When he finally reached Robert's old office, he saw her, leaning over the desk with her hands cradling her head.

"Mom," Oliver said, knocking twice on the open door.

She was crying. He could hear her stifled sobs and persistent sniffling even before she raised her head to show off a pair of puffy red eyes and a mass of mascara smudged under her eyelashes.

"I'm sorry," Moira said, wiping tears with the back of her hand as she tried to find some organization in the mess of papers on her desk. Oliver slowly walked over to her as she shoved and tapped the paperwork into some kind of disjunctive stack. He reached out a hand, placing it over her own, to stop the flustered movements.

When Oliver listened to her voicemail on his phone that morning, he could tell that something wasn't right. She told him she was at QC, but she never went to the office- only for emergencies- if then. That was when he knew something was wrong.

"What is it?" He asked, concern thick in his voice as he released her hand.

She looked up at him, taking a shaky breath as she gave him a tentative smile. "Where do I begin?" She said, shrugging. "The company is going under and everyone in this building knows it- they are just too chicken to leave." She was staring at her hands now. "I thought that if I came back in here, I would be able to find something of Robert's that would help me figure out what to do… but there is nothing."

She paused, turning to look out the window as Oliver kept his steady gaze on her.

"Your father spent more time here than he did at home and yet I come up to find that it's all just empty," she said, rolling her lips as new tears pricked her eyes.

When Moira turned back to look at Oliver, who had shoved his hands deep in his pockets, she was swallowing something painful.

"Your father was not a good person-" she said, her voice breaking. "-he did some bad things and I-I _need_ you to know that."

Oliver nodded, his eyes softening. "I do."

He didn't need to tell her that he knew everything, just as she didn't need to explain what she meant. It was an unspoken understanding between mother and son.

Moira sniffed again, drying her eyes as she suddenly stood, smoothing out the folds of her dress.

"Well," she said, giving Oliver a small smile, transitioning back into her 'perfect mother' routine. "I'd say that's enough time in this office for one day."

Oliver had a sickening feeling in his core. Maybe it was the sensation that followed upon seeing one's own mother cry, or perhaps it was because he saw what he needed to do and whom he needed to become- and although he wouldn't outwardly admit it, this scared him.

"I'm going to help you get this company back on track," Oliver said, his voice steady, as Moira's eyes jumped up at the boom of his voice. "And anything else you need."

Her eyes softened at this, a moment of relief and hopefulness crossing over her features- followed by pride.

* * *

><p>Oliver stepped into the mud soaked grass, his dress shoes sinking into the muck as he trudged out onto the field. It had been a few days since he saw his mother up in his father's old office, her tear streaked face replaying in his mind like a bad dream. Something shifted in him at that moment, a calling presenting itself loud and clear. After that, a nostalgic wave had washed over him, prompting him to tie up some loose ends and make amends.<p>

He knew it started with John Diggle.

Oliver saw a picture of John in one of the yearbooks, where his back was to the camera- last name DIGGLE written across a soccer jersey. Oliver had a sudden déjà vu, a familiar feeling following after that image, like he had seen it many times before.

So he had called him up, getting the number from Felicity, who was more than willing to oblige. At first he was sure John would turn down his offer to meet, but he surprised Oliver by asking him to, instead, meet at an intramural soccer field just outside of the city.

Now, walking onto that intramural field, Oliver could see John's back, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched a group of little girls kick around a soccer ball. John was a large stack of a man, and he got even bigger when Oliver walked up next to him.

John turned and gave him a knowing smile. "Oliver Queen," he said, sticking out a hand. "It's been a while."

Oliver took it and returned the gesture, glancing out at the soccer field- the smell of summer heat and wet grass distinct.

"It's good to see you," Oliver said, almost adding '_again_' to the end, but thought better of it.

John nodded, a tight smile on his lips as he shouted at the girls to form the ladder drill. They followed orders, weaving in and out of each other like frantic ants.

"You're a coach?" Oliver asked, folding his arms over his chest.

John pursed his lips and bobbed his head left to right, as if to say 'kind of.' "My daughter plays on the team," he said, pointing to a small thing- smooth caramel skin with a braid hanging loosely behind her. "It's nice to be apart of something she's interested in."

Oliver nodded, wondering how the world had grown up so fast.

"Usually I work with veterans, helping them overcome traumatic experiences," John said, indifferently. "They like having someone to talk to who understands what's going on over there."

Oliver's interest peaked. "You served?" He asked.

John nodded. "Right after high school."

They stood in silence for a moment, both testing each other's energy, wondering how much the other had changed. There was something about the way John held himself that demanded respect and honesty, all things that Oliver admired.

"Got any tips?" Oliver asked.

John raised an eyebrow.

"-on how to move on," Oliver said, tightening his jaw. "To regroup."

John stood there, his eyes scanning the field as the girls weaved and dodged, thinking. "It's going to take a while," he said, shrugging, the look on his face conveying that he knew what Oliver had gone through. "But the first step is accepting who you are now. Acknowledging the past, but not going back there. Live in the present."

Oliver couldn't help but smile at this. "Were you always this philosophical in high school?"

John wrinkled his face. "Nah," he said, letting out a small laugh. "It comes with old age."

Oliver let out a throaty laugh as he shook his head. "Thanks, John."

"You can call me Digg," he said, cocking his head at Oliver, who gave a nod.

"Digg."

"And," he said, shrugging. "I could always use another voice to get this team of eighteen girls into some kind of order… if you're interested."

Oliver was about to decline, coming up with some excuse about being too busy with Queens Consolidated, but then stopped himself. Soccer was familiar to some part of him, just as Digg was also part of that equation. He needed this trigger, and something to ground him into a routine.

"Sure," Oliver said, bobbing his head. "For the sake of your soul."

Just as Oliver said this one of the girls started whining about one of her teammates elbowing her in the eye.

"Thank God," Digg muttered as he moved forward, looking like a man ready for battle.

* * *

><p>Oliver grabbed the bottle of Chateau de Beaucastel that was tucked snuggly into a paper bag and thanked the cashier. Shoving his wallet back into his pocket, he made a move to exit the liquor store, checking his phone to see a text messages from Felicity asking him how his meeting with Digg went. Just as Oliver was about to respond with some smart-ass comment about him now having eighteen other girls to deal with, he heard his name. Turning to look at the source of the sound, he saw Tommy standing in the center of isle three, looking like hell.<p>

"Hey," Tommy said, walking up to him, holding a pack of Space Barley.

Oliver nodded, not bothering to say anything.

Tommy ran his hands through his hair, dark circles under his eyes like he hadn't slept in days.

"So, listen, I told Laurel…" he said, trailing off. "She's totally freaking out."

Typical Tommy, going straight for the punch line, while averting any kind of direct conflict having to do with him. It wasn't enough for him to just move on and ignore the situation. Although Oliver didn't remember much about Tommy pre-accident, he'd always gotten the feeling that the guy hated when other people were disappointed in him, probably stemming from some unresolved conflict with his father. It all exhausted Oliver.

"Laurel and I are done," Oliver said, wondering how many more times he was going to have to say it before it sunk into everyone's minds. "We have been for a while- even before the accident."

Tommy was staring at the floor, but still nodding. "I'm just- I'm sorry," he said, once Oliver finished, but it came out more like a mumble. Oliver didn't say anything, instead he shifted the wine from one hand to the other, hoping Tommy would feel his impatience. "I saw you're with Felicity now…"

Oliver hiked an eyebrow.

"The tabloid," Tommy explained, gesturing with a hand, still barely meeting Oliver's eyes. "You used to talk about her when you got really, really drunk. It was actually kind of sad because- I mean- you would get into really intimate details, like the type of shampoo she used to use and the color of her glasses- stuff that no one remembers unless they, you know, loved that person or whatever."

Oliver stared down at the paper bag, rolling the bottle in his hand as he listened to Tommy ramble.

"I'm just trying to say that I'm glad you guys are together because, you know, it was fucking miserable listening to you babble on about this girl you were in love with when there were at least twenty other women throwing themselves at your feet," Tommy said, that bite still present in his apologetic tone, which made the ends of Oliver's mouth twitch up in the slightest. "But yeah- I should go-"

He was about to turn when Oliver stuck out his hand, making Tommy pause and look down at it. A simple gesture, but Oliver could tell it meant the world to him. Their hands made a clapping sound as they shook, finally making eye contact, before both releasing.

Tommy gave a nod before turning toward the cashier as Oliver pushed open the front door, a bell chiming overhead.

* * *

><p>Oliver rasped on Felicity's bedroom window, making her jump a good three feet in the air as she let out a loud yelp.<p>

Minutes before, she had been splayed out on her bed, with the TV on as she nursed a bowl of popcorn between her thighs. Oliver had snuck through her backyard, the bottle of red wine tucked under his arm as he walked up to her window. She had looked cute leaned up against the headboard, eyes glued to the screen as the TV's light reflected on her glasses, completely absorbed in what was happening.

Oliver didn't even think about the repercussions of his quick knock, which resulted in both Felicity and the popcorn, flying. When she had finally found some kind of composer, after scrambling off her bed- toward her bedroom door- she turned to see that Oliver was the cause of her heart palpitations.

Felicity marched over to him, looking not too pleased, as she unlatched the window and lifted.

"_Oliver Queen_," she said, placing both hands on the windowsill as she leaned over to meet his eyes. "You scared- at least- one hundred brain cells right out of me, what the hell are you doing back here?"

Oliver tried to hide his smile as he looked up at her. "Well, you said I used to sneak in through your bedroom window in high school," he said, shrugging. "Just thought we could re-live the glory days."

Felicity scoffed. "A little warning would have been nice," she said, moving back so he could climb through. "I was planning on making you wait at the front door for at least five minutes as I yell 'I'm coming' but was really running a comb through my hair and maybe putting on some deodorant in the bathroom."

Oliver held out the paper bag, guiltily. "Peace offering?"

Felicity narrowed her eyes, still flustered. "What's in it?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. "Chocolate? Flowers? Maybe some Benzo's for my nerves?"

Oliver smirked, taking the bottle from the paper bag.

"Wine?" Felicity's eyes perked up. "Would have gone perfectly with my Olivia Pope theme of the night," she said, gesturing to the popcorn that was now scattered all over the bed.

Oliver didn't even ask as he slid the bottle onto her nightstand and reached out, grabbing her by the waist.

"It's for putting up with me the past few weeks," he said, bringing a hand up to her cheek as he laid a kiss on her forehead. "And for believing in me." She rolled her head back, so her face was tilted up toward him.

"Well in that case, next time you decide to have an identity crisis," she said, playing with his tie. "I want a Generic Guardian 22kW Standby Generator."

Oliver stared at her. "There's nothing generic about that," he said, hiking his eyebrows. "But I'll keep it in mind."

Felicity gave him a triumphant smile as she broke away to clean up the popcorn mess. Oliver helped her, plucking the small Styrofoam- like pieces with his index and thumb.

"I ran into Tommy today," Oliver said, feeling her eyes move to him.

Felicity raised an eyebrow. "Really?" She said, rubbing her hands together over a trashcan.

Oliver hummed in reply. "Apparently you were my topic of choice during my pre-accident drunken rampages."

Felicity offered a smile. "Seems like you two are already fast on your way to becoming friends again."

Oliver sat on her bed, which wheezed under his weight as she rounded the perimeter to meet him.

"I'm not sure I'd go so far as to say that," he said, shaking his head, as she placed both her hands on his shoulders.

"Isn't that how boys handle their problems?" Felicity asked, flicking a piece of hair over her shoulder. "Ignore each other for a few days, maybe throw a couple punches, then call it even."

Oliver narrowed his eyes. "Is that how Diggle and I used to handle our problems?"

Felicity let out a laugh. "No, you two were like the rest of us women, passive aggressive as hell, with the occasional side of sass."

Oliver smiled, humming as he folded his hands around her waist, drawing her near- feeling her fingers wrap around the nape of his neck.

Felicity sighed, leaning into him as she pulled herself onto his lap. "So now I have to expect you'll be spending your weekends with eighteen other females?" She asked, raising an eyebrow. "And here I thought I was your only girl?" She joked, pressing her lips against the scruff on his chin.

Oliver chuckled against her nose before moving his lips down to meet hers, slanting them against her own as he brought a hand up to her hair. He held the kiss for a moment, tasting the salt on her lips from the popcorn.

Oliver wondered what it would be like to sit down with pre-accident Oliver. What would he tell him? A boy who had simultaneously given up and captured something so rare- Felicity, his Felicity- a woman who both inspired and challenged him. He was curious, if these inconsistent moments they had shared, between pain and pleasure, loss and gain- were surmounting into something bigger than even them.

Oliver would tell him it was all worth it- every second, because if there was some kind of grand plan, an ultimate fate, it was pulling him to this moments and the thousands of moments afterward; shifting and turning him toward a path that would always lead back to her.

"You'll always be my girl, Felicity," he murmured into her lips, like a prayer.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> THE END!

Whew. We made it. Thank you all for reading my story! I adore this couple and am glad to have shared this story with you. I realize that there are some things that weren't entirely addressed but after spending a couple weeks writing out different endings, this one felt the most right. Like life, sometimes we don't get all the answers. But I hoped you enjoyed it anyways.

Please leave me some last comments on what you thought about State of Mind. Hopefully I'll have more stories in the future. Thanks again! You are all wonderful readers and people! Much love.

Bee


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